Twist of Fate
by Gramm485
Summary: Alfred suspected that she worked for Umbrella...Well, maybe not Umbrella, but she certainly was someone's agent...though who exactly Claire Redfield works for is unknown.
1. Chapter 1

**Foreword: I was given this idea by my good friend Lara (better known as yamiishot on fan fic) over at Project Moirae. I promised her that I'd write a story about it. So, without further ado, here is a tale of Claire Redfield in an alternate setting in the realm of Resident Evil.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Claire's boots crunched down on the gravel of the abandoned quarry. Both of her legs ached, even though they'd only been walking for a short time. The previous, sleepless night was the main source of her fatigue. Now that it was finally over, she was on the biggest adrenaline crash of her life.

The cool, dusty breeze felt good through her thin, tattered black shirt and her bare legs. The air was dry, smelling of rock and dust, not blood and filth. There was almost no sound, other than the whisper of wind, no frustrated cries of hunger or hisses of monsters. The sun was halfway above the horizon, just after dawn and casting long shadows over every little thing. Behind them rose a geyser of smoke; the remainder of the secret lab, and nothing more than a bad memory.

It was a nice vacation until things kicked back up, which, as Leon put it, inevitably would.

_After all, it's just like he said: it's up to us to take out Umbrella._

Well, not just them. As soon as Claire found her brother and his friends, they would have help. There was no way they were going to get away with what just happened. No way in hell. But they had a lot to do before they could start making corporate heads roll. Step one: find someone besides the three of them alive.

_Then a bathroom, a shower, a five course meal, and a jacuzzi._

As much as Claire didn't want to break the peaceful silence, she felt she had to. She was more or less following Leon's lead, and the rookie cop hadn't said a word for the last mile. He just marched along her left side, shotgun slung over his back, brooding in his own little world. She didn't know the details, but she did know one thing: Leon had lost someone close. All Claire knew was that her name was Ada.

Another reason why Claire didn't want to start up the conversation was because of the third person of their little group. Little Sherry Birkin, her small hand clasped firmly yet gently in Claire's gloved right hand. She might be able to coax the girl into not listening to their "grown-up talk", but Sherry was too smart for that.

The 12 year old hadn't complained about their walk once, even though she was probably more tired than Claire. She still wore Claire's pink vest over her school uniform. The garment was mostly unscathed, being that Claire gave it to her before the shit really hit the fan. It might stink a bit from their romp in the sewers, but that was it. The bomb-holding angel with the 'Made in Heaven' crest was still plainly visible.

Claire sighed. May as well go ahead with it.

"Leon, what are we going to do when we reach civilization?"

The cop jerked from his thinking. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are we going to say about Umbrella? We don't have any evidence. I chucked that pendant back in the lab, and the whole place went up in flames. Who do we even go to?"

It was Leon's turn to sigh. "They have the whole city as evidence. There has to be something in there. The only problem is it will be tough to get it, and no doubt Umbrella will try to cover it up. There's the three of us, too. They can't ignore three unrelated people with the same story. Plus, from what we read in your brother's diary, there's him and the rest of S.T.A.R.S as well."

He'd only answered half of her question. "Who do we go to?" she repeated.

"I dunno, the government?" Leon asked her tiredly. "Let's just take things one step at a time and find help first." He sounded cross.

"One step at a time," Claire repeated softly. "Gotcha." She turned her attention to Sherry, who had been listening intently to their little exchange. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

The little girl yawned. "I'm tired."

Claire smiled. "I know, I am too. We'll stop real soon, okay?"

"Okay," she said with another yawn.

'Soon' turned out to be stretching the truth, as Claire found out. The rail tracks didn't meet up with the highway for a few hours. They stopped for a breather once they did, just as the sun was beginning to reach the top of it's lopsided arc.

Raccoon was a fairly isolated city, just at the foot of the Arklay mountains. Those mountains weren't even visible from their current position. Even though the sign they sat under indicated that the city was 13 miles away, there was no sign of anyone else; no other survivors, no military or police forces. They were all alone.

"We must still be too close to the city," remarked Leon. "The more we head out, the more likely we're going to run into someone."

"Like a road block?" asked Claire as she gently stroked Sherry's blond hair. The child was snoozing lightly with her head in her lap. "But if there are roadblocks, shouldn't they have prevented us from getting into the city?"

"I guess that might depend on a few things," Leon said, shrugging.

"Like what?"

"The extent of the outbreak, for one. If the military or part of the police set up anything to prevent people from getting in or out of the city, they'd make sure to do it along the main lines of transit. I took a back road into town."

"So did I," said Claire, seeing his point. Talk about bad luck.

They rested for a bit before moving again. By the time the found a place worth stopping, night had fallen again.

* * *

The gas station was void of life, both the normal kind and the undead.

"Anybody home?" Claire whispered to herself, receiving a rough grin from Leon.

"This close to the city, the people here might have been able to evacuate," he said. "I don't think any of the infected people could have made it this far, nor would they have a reason to. Besides, we didn't see anything on the way here. But just to be safe, we're going to sweep it top to bottom before we move in."

"Right."

Claire pulled the handgun tucked into the waist of her pink cutoffs. The breeze had been refreshing before, but now the temperature had dropped into the uncomfortably cold zone. The skimpy pink denim and short black spandex biking shorts did jack to keep her warm. At least Sherry would stay warm inside her vest.

"I'll go left, you go right," Leon said, readying his shotgun. "We meet up in the back before going in together."

Claire nodded, then gave a soft tug on Sherry's hand, indicating her to follow. She couldn't just leave her waiting, so she'd have to come with her.

"Stay close, baby."

Sherry made a face. "Don't call me baby."

Claire couldn't help but snicker. "Sorry Sherry. I totally forgot. I wasn't calling you a baby, it's just the way I talk. But still, stay close, and keep your eyes peeled. If you see something, anything, don't hesitate."

Leon had already begun to move around the gas pumps in front of the station. Claire went the other way, her gun out in front in one hand, the other securely with Sherry's. They moved around the building, looking for signs of movement. There were no obvious spots to hide, and when they circled it, they only found Leon waiting for them.

The front door was unlocked. Leon went in first. The lights were working, so they didn't have to grope around in the dark. Each of them went up the two short aisles of snack and junk food, then looked in the bathrooms and behind the counter. Nothing.

All three of them sighed in relief. They had a place to stay, out of the cold air. The goosebumps were already disappearing from Claire's scratched bare legs. Leon locked the door and joined in Claire and Sherry's raid of the food. They settled down and stuffed themselves. Claire forced Sherry to at least eat some semi-healthy food before digging in to candy and soda.

"But Claire!" she protested "I don't wanna!"

"Sherry, you're a growing girl," said Claire, "And I didn't learn to kick all those zombies' butts by eating junk food all the time."

"But you're in college," she countered. "It's not fair, no one tells you what to eat."

_Touché_

"Alright, but I better not hear you complaining of a stomach ache later..."

After their feast, Leon pawed around the store a bit and unearthed a moth eaten sweatshirt, which he gave to Claire.

"Here you go."

"Thanks," she said, and draped it around her shoulders, relieved that it wasn't splattered in blood. Sherry was once again snuggled up at Claire's side, her head in her lap, sleeping soundly. Leon quietly sat down next to Claire, letting out a long sigh. It sounded like he'd been pushing himself to stay alert. The bullet wound in his shoulder probably wasn't making it easy for him.

"About how much longer?" Claire whispered.

"Maybe a few hours walk," Leon whispered back. "If we're lucky, someone might find us first."

"Yeah, we could use a change in luck right about now."

"Yeah..."

Claire stole a glance at him. He was sitting staring at his knees. For a moment, she wanted to ask him about Ada, and how he was feeling. She quickly dismissed the idea; if Leon wanted to talk, he would, but he needed time first.

Instead, Claire leaned over and placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She felt his head turn, perhaps in surprise, but that was all. He didn't pull away, but he did put his arm around her shoulder. She hardly knew the cop, but there was a connection between them, one that was close. In just those two actions, they both got the message: she was there, and he knew it.

The fingers poking through her gloves found their way back to Sherry's hair, gently caressing the short blond locks. Leon's secure arm held her close, his shoulder surprisingly comfortable, despite being a bit damp. He even smelled nice.

The next thing she knew, it was morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"But Claire," Cheryl protested, "I don't get it. Why do you have to go?"

Claire dumped a pair of jeans into her suitcase, not bothering to fold them carefully. She pawed around in the tiny closet of her room for some more clothes. A few pairs of socks, a couple of shirts, and some underwear joined the jeans.

"I don't get it either," sighed Claire as she continued to stuff things into her case. "But I'm going because I haven't heard from Chris in three months. I know where he was last, so I'm going to go there and find him."

She didn't add the part about taking out Umbrella. Her suitemate, Cheryl Robins, already knew of her involvement in Raccoon City. Her face, along with Leon's and a few other survivors' were all across the country's newspapers. Cheryl didn't know, however, about her and Leon's intentions to do what they could to bring the company down. No one did.

They had come up with a simple plan: play dumb. A company as big as Umbrella might have the power to do a few shady things, especially when it came to their security. By acting clueless as to the cause of the Raccoon Outbreak, they were able to steer clear of the allegations already rising against Umbrella. This allowed them to move freely. Now, a few months later, they decided it was time to head to Europe themselves.

Right now, Leon was looking into flights to Paris, where Chris was supposed to be located. He'd called about an hour ago, saying that one was leaving that evening. Claire and Sherry were just stopping at her dorm to pack a few things, then they would meet him at the airport.

"But what's going to happen when they find out you're leaving?" Cheryl asked her from the doorway. 'They' were the university. At this point, Claire could care less about grades or an education. No doubt if the Dean caught wind of her leaving, he'd throw a fit.

"Tell them I'm living with someone else, I don't know," she replied, distracted as she fumbled with her computer. She was going to have to leave the printer behind. "You don't have to say where I'm going. I'm not even concerned about the rest of my stuff. With any luck, I'll be able to come back and get it when my housing contract is up."

_But that's not likely..._

Claire made one last run through of her closet. A lot of her favorite clothes were in there, jackets and vests she'd collected over the years. All of it couldn't go with her. She at least allowed herself the mercy of taking her second favorite item, the crimson leather vest with the 'Let Me Live' logo. This she folded carefully before placing it in her hastily packed case.

It seemed that Cheryl was intent on doing the worrying for both of them. "Do you remember the last time you went on an impulse like this?" she asked. "You were lucky that you only lost your bike!"

"I don't think I'm going to run into another zombie fest," Claire replied, irritated. If she did, she was cursed.

That was it for packing. She was going to have to buy more clothes once they got to Europe. Claire zipped the suitcase and stood it up, stretching her back as she straightened. Cheryl still stood in the door, a sad look on her delicate features. She was a good friend, and no doubt she didn't want her to leave on such a trip.

"Hey..." Claire said tenderly when she saw her face begin to furrow. She gently hugged her.

Cheryl sniffed. "Just be careful, damn it."

"I will. Don't worry, I'll probably be back before you know it."

They broke apart, and Cheryl managed to keep a straight face. Claire took her suitcase, then walked to the door of her suite with her friend. Once there, they paused again.

"Well...bye," Claire said, giving her one last pat on the back, then walking out the door.

Sherry was waiting for her in the floor lounge. After the brief 4 floor elevator ride back to the ground floor, they entered the cab that was already waiting for them outside the dormitory. Claire gave the driver the destination, and they headed to the airport.

* * *

"Hey Claire?" Sherry asked once they were through the hassle of getting their tickets. "What's Leon been doing?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied, a bit distracted as she looked for the route to the security checkpoint. "He said he was trying to get in touch with the government."

"Do you think they're going to do something about Umbrella?"

"I certainly hope so, sweetie. They've already taken care of the city."

The three of them were far more lucky than Claire would ever have imagined. Not a day after they escaped the horror, Raccoon City was bombed, completely annihilating it. The US government took full responsibility for it, under the excuse of a massive viral outbreak. They didn't, however, release details as to the source of the outbreak. Whether it was due to lack of evidence or something more sinister, Claire didn't know. All she did know was that Leon had been working to get into the government for the last three months.

That wasn't all that Leon had been up to. He'd gotten his fingers into some anti-Umbrella movements as well. It seemed they been stirring up some things in other parts of the world. There was some incident involving Leon's friend, but he wouldn't give her the details. A bit shady for someone trying to contact the government, in Claire's opinion.

It took the usual hassle to get through security. Claire's suitcase was already on the way to be loaded into the plane, and she didn't have any carry-ons. Sherry had a small backpack with some clothes and other small necessities. That was run through the x-ray device.

Claire's windbreaker kept setting off the metal detector for some reason, which was the main source of their problems. It was an unusually warm day for late December, even at their current location, so she took it off and slung it over her shoulder. It was too warm even for a vest, so Claire just stuck to a black shirt that showed a sliver of her midriff, and a pair of jeans.

The two of them made their way to the correct gate. Their flight wasn't going to leave for another hour. The only problem was Leon; the cop was nowhere to be found. He was supposed to meet them.

"Where's Leon?" asked Sherry, reading her thoughts. "Didn't he say he was going to be here?"

Claire shrugged."I dunno. Maybe he's running late, or he's in the bathroom, or something."

No sooner than the words fell from her lips than the airport's intercom sounded over the buzz of the noisy commuters.

"_Claire Redfield, please come to the nearest service desk, there is a call waiting for you. Claire Redifeld, please come to the nearest service desk._"

The intercom clicked off and Claire sighed. "I'm going to take a guess and say that has something to do with it. Come on, Sherry."

She took a hold of the child's hand and they made their way to a desk. It took them a few minutes to find one, as the nearest one was almost back at the security checkpoint they just passed.

The woman working at the desk smiled as she approached. "Can I help you?"

"Um, yeah. I'm Claire Redfield, I was paged?" Claire asked uncertainly as she casually batted her hands on the counter top.

"One moment," the attendant said, then picked up the phone. She spoke on it for a bit, then pressed a button and handed it to Claire, who pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"_Claire, it's Leon._"

"I thought so."

He sighed. "_Something big came up. I can't make it to the airport._"

"What happened?"

"_G_o_t a hold of the government. They finally want to talk. I'm meeting with them and a few others from the various underground units. This is huge._"

It certainly was. The government was finally willing to take the fight to Umbrella. Maybe.

"That is huge," she admitted.

"_It would help loads if you came, too._"

Claire was afraid of that. She knew she was vital to the cause, having seen everything first hand. So was Sherry. But Chris was in Europe, and as long as she knew that, that's where she was going to go.

"I know," she said to Leon, "But I really have to go find Chris."

"_Claire, it's been three months..._"

"I know," she repeated, turning away from the desk. This was getting a little more personal. "...and I haven't heard from him. He's still alive, Leon."

"_I wasn't suggesting otherwise,_" Leon said quickly. "_I'm just saying that he's probably on the move, and he can't contact you. But you have to realize that he may be long gone already. What are you going to do when you get to France and find nothing?_"

"I'll start looking," she said firmly.

Leon sighed again. "_I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I_?"

Claire grinned. "Nope. And you're not here to drag me away kicking and screaming, either."

There was a pause. "_Alright. Go to Europe, and find Chris. Just be careful. This is Umbrella we're dealing with. Don't do anything stupid, and look after Sherry as well. You know that I can keep an eye on her here if you want._"

"Thanks Leon, but I'd rather keep her with me. I don't want her to be alone."

"_Alright...Good luck._"

"Thanks. Ditto."

* * *

An hour later, nature called.

"Sherry, I'm going to run to the bathroom real quick," said Claire. It would be better to go now rather than use the tiny airplane bathroom in mid-flight, though she'd probably have to use it anyway, as it was going to be a long one. "Do you want to come with?"

Sherry shook her head. "No thanks, I'm fine."

"Okay. Well, I won't be long. Don't move until I get back, alright?"

"Got it!"

Claire knew that under no circumstances should she leave a girl like Sherry alone even for a minute in a busy place, but she was going to be back in no time at all. Sherry was smart enough not to talk to strangers, and Claire was sure she knew what to do if someone grabbed her.

She left her on the seats near their terminal, then walked to the nearest bathroom. When she exited, she spotted her favorite biker magazine on one of the many kiosks littering the concourse. She walked back to where she left Sherry, half browsing the article teasers on the cover, then stopped in her tracks.

Sherry was gone.

Claire looked around, panic rising. At first, she thought she walked right past her, but no. The second seat from the end of the aisle was empty. Her backpack wasn't even there.

The college student's panicked blossomed; how could she have been so stupid? After everything, to have the little girl simply taken away when the person protecting her was too stupid to take her along where she was going. It was every parent's nightmare...

_Or wait, maybe she just wandered off!_

There were shops nearby, a gift store and a bookstore. Both had plenty of things that could catch the curiosity of an underage girl. She'd have a quick look, then-

"Claire Redfield?"

Claire spun. It was a cop.

"Oh thank God!" she exclaimed, heart hammering. "You have to help me. I was with this little girl-"

"We know," he interrupted with a raised hand. "We've already taken her into protective custody. Miss Redfield, you need to come with us."

Claire gave her head a brief shake. Nothing was making sense. The cops already had Sherry, and now they were looking for her?

"W-What?" she sputtered. Behind him, she saw two more men in uniform. That must have been what he meant by 'us'. "What's this about?"

"An APB was put out for your arrest. Please come with us," he repeated, reaching to his belt and taking hold of her arm.

Claire instinctively stepped back and raised her arm, trying to break his grip. The magazine she'd been holding in a death grip fell to the carpet, creased from her hands. There had to be a mistake! She hadn't done anything to get arrested. Sherry, she had to find Sherry...

"No, wait, there's some sort of mistake-"

"Miss Redfied, please come with us quietly or we will use force," the cop said firmly, his hand moving from the pair of handcuffs to his gun. Immediately, Claire settled down. This wasn't a joke.

"Okay, okay," she said breathlessly, then forced herself to relax.

The cop twisted her arms around behind her back, slapped the handcuffs around her wrists, then took hold of her upper arm and began to lead her away, flanked by his partners. All around her, people were beginning to stare, taking interest in the girl who had apparently broken the law. People always loved that sort of thing, watching someone else get in trouble. Red color flushed Claire's cheeks, and she avoided their eyes. It was humiliating, to be arrested in public, then paraded around in cuffs.

_As soon as this gets straightened out, we'll be fine. I'll probably miss the flight, but I have to find Sherry again. Then I'm going to file one hell of a complaint for these bastards..._

The cop and his partners led her across the airport lobby, then outside. It was here that something clicked for her, one critical mistake that she failed to notice before, due to the fact that she'd never been on the wrong side of the law: the cop never read her her rights. By the time she noticed it, they were already outside...

...and alone.

"Wait-" she said, pulse rising again as she twisted uncomfortably in the restraints.

One of the 'cops' opened the door to a regular car, not a police cruiser.

"Get in."

Claire shook her head, then tried to back away from the open door. "No...who are you guys..."

One of their hands grabbed her upper arm, steering her towards the door. Something cold pressed against the small of her back, on the thin line of bare skin where her shirt ended and her jeans began. Claire gasped, first from the shock of temperature change, then upon the realization of what it was.

"Get in the car, Redfield," said the cop with the gun pressed in her back.

Claire realized she had screwed up, big time. She remembered what Leon told her over the phone: "this is Umbrella we're dealing with." Was this Umbrella right now? Were they going to kill her for her involvement in Raccoon City? They wouldn't have had a hard time figuring that out; her face was plastered all over the newspapers for the last few months.

_Oh God, what if they have Leon, too? What if that deal with the government is a trap?_

She wanted to fight back, to not let them do the horrible things that flashed through her mind. She could try to scream, but the nearest people were what seemed like miles away. If they heard her, she would appear to be a delinquent resisting arrest. Then, no doubt, they would just throw her into the car anyway. Or worse

They had her cold, and it was all her fault. And Sherry...what were they going to do to Sherry?

The gun dug harder into her back. "Now..."

She had two options, so she decided to take the less stupid of the two. She got into the car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Although she was undeniably scared, Claire kept it together. No crying, no shaking, nothing. She wasn't going to give them anything that they could get off on.

She was sandwiched between two of the fake cops in the back seat, leaving the remaining one to drive.

_Why couldn't one sit in the front? It's not like I'm going anywhere._

She tried not to squirm in between her captors, not wanting to give them a reason for acknowledging her. Her hands were already numb, and her arms were beginning to tingle. It was uncomfortable as hell to sit with her arms mashed behind her. The cold metal bands circling her wrists had long since warmed from her skin, and now were beginning to chafe from the tiny movements from the car ride. Topping her discomfort off were her shoulders, stiff from being pulled back.

_I guess I should count myself lucky; at least they didn't throw me in the trunk._

The guy to her right still had his gun out. Claire knew a couple of models of guns, but she didn't recognize his piece. He held it in his lap, half pointed at her, half not. When he caught her looking at it, she looked away, head tucked submissively. She'd tried to get them to talk, to reveal their intentions, but they gave her nothing, only silence. Ever since then, neither side spoke a word.

They'd been driving for almost an hour. As much as Claire lived on campus in the city, and as much as she liked to ride around on her motorcycle, she tended to stick close to the university. They had already left the innards of the city and were heading further away; Claire didn't recognize anything.

Five minutes later, the car pulled into a driveway of a group of buildings, then a garage. A motor buzzed, and the door began to lower, shutting out the sunlight, leaving only light filtering in from cracks and electricity. Claire's stomach lurched, the realization that something horrible might happen now even more apparent in these settings. It was just like a movie. One of them pulled her roughly from the car by the arm. Her heavy boots tripped over the lip of the interior, almost sending her sprawling, had he not been holding her.

Two of them escorted her, while the third went ahead. They pulled her through the door that the other went through. It was a seedy little joint; dirty concrete walls and floors and flickering light bulbs. Claire was surprised to see that the electricity actually worked. Trash littered the ground, perhaps a sign that vagrants passed by here on a regular basis.

They stopped at a door a ways into the building, and Claire was relieved when one began to fiddle with her cuffs. If they were bothering to restrain and transport her, then un-restrain her, it probably meant they weren't going to outright kill her.

Yet.

The cuffs came off and they opened the door, then shoved her in, slamming it shut behind her. Claire winced, rubbing at the red rings around her wrists. Whoever they were, the didn't know how to treat a lady.

The room, or almost cell, was a little better than what she'd seen so far. The walls were at least painted off-white, and the floor was clean. Bare fluorescent tubes ran across the ceiling, dumping white light over everything. In the dead center of the room sat a small square metal table and two chairs. On the table was a burnt out desk lamp and a cup with some writing utensils.

_Looks like I'll be having a chat with someone...maybe. Maybe this was the only place they had that could act like a holding cell._

The room was square, and there wasn't a whole lot of room to pace, so Claire slowly circled the table, biting the tip of her tongue as she thought, trying to work the feeling back into her hands. She couldn't stop thinking about Sherry. A feeling of guilt was beginning to crush the fear that was making her heart pound. Why did she leave her alone for something stupid like taking a piss? She could just imagine it: the little girl being bound, gagged, and threatened, crying and confused-

_No! Don't think about it! They won't hurt her. They _can't_ hurt her. She's only a kid, and no sadistic company would do that to a kid. Besides, they didn't do that to me, so why would they do it to her?_ _At this point, I'm her only hope, I have to keep it together!_

She didn't have Leon to back her up like in Raccoon, and she didn't know where the hell Chris was. No friends, no cops, no nothing. It was all her.

The door opened suddenly, her adrenaline spiking both in fear and anticipation.

"Greetings...You must be the _lovely_ Claire Redfield."

She jerked at the voice. The owner shut the door behind him. It was a man, clad in black. From his shoes to his pants, to his coat to his gloves, everything was a shade of night. He had a head full of blond hair, expertly slicked back with perfection. Most of his expression, other than his broad, confident smile was hidden by a pair of sunglasses.

"Who're you?" Claire demanded. The wheels in her head turned, but there was a cog missing. This guy looked familiar, though she was certain she had never met him before in her life. Still, there was something...It felt like digging through a drawer where she _knew_ something was stored, only to find that someone had put it somewhere else.

_Who the hell is he?_

"Let's just say that I'm a ghost..." the man mused, "...coming back to haunt your dear brother."

It clicked, and all the gears began to turn. She thought of Chris, and the rest of her mind put it together. Chris, Air Force, S.T.A.R.S, visits, meeting Jill, Barry, the framed picture on her desk, a man with blond hair and shades in the second row, the name-

"Wesker?" she asked incredulously.

Wesker's grin widened and he stepped further into the room. "It seems there's not much explaining to do, is there?"

"But...but Chris said you died!" Claire stammered. It had been plain as day, written in his diary she pulled from his desk in Raccoon.

"Did he now?" he lifted an arm, then peered at it thoughtfully. "To tell you the truth, I'd go so far as to agree with him."

"and..and..." Claire's eyes widened, then burned with blue hatred. "...he said it was _you_! You betrayed the S.T.A.R.S! You got them all killed!"

"I don't deny it."

Claire bared her teeth, but despite her face, she pressed her back to the wall. She knew that in her current state, unarmed and exposed, she was all bark and no bite. Judging by the lack of change in his expression, Wesker knew this too. In fact, he seemed to be thriving on it.

Whatever Claire thought she knew of the situation was gone. Wesker was supposed to be dead, was _sure_ to be dead, yet here he was, standing not feet from her, hands resting idly on the back of one of the chairs. From what little was in the diary, Chris portrayed Wesker as a very dangerous man. Now that man stood in front of her.

She was scared, but her anger was more apparent. "What have you done with Sherry?" she demanded.

"You needn't concern yourself with the young Miss Birkin. I assure you, she is being well taken care of." He motioned to the other chair. "Please, have a seat."

Claire shook her head. "Bullshit. If I find that you even touched-"

"Miss Redfied," Wesker interrupted, "Miss Birkin is not of your concern at the moment. As I said, she is being well taken care of, and I say that with the most honorable intentions. Despite your current beliefs about my persona, I know a thing or two about children. Now please."

Claire felt like slapping him, or better yet, stomping his head into a curb. She was even wearing the right boots. But like it or not, he was mostly right. She couldn't do anything for Sherry at the moment. In order to do so, she'd have to play along.

She stormed to the chair and sat down, fists clenched. "Happy? Now what the hell do you want?"

Wesker sat in the other, folding his leather clad hands neatly in front of him. "Straight to the point it is, then. I don't know what Chris told you, but contrary to what you may or may not think, I do _not_ work for Umbrella."

Not Umbrella? Who else was in on this?

"Instead," he continued. "I work for another organization, who, at the present, shall remain anonymous."

"What, if I may ask, has all of this got to do with me?" Claire asked sardonically.

"Nothing, really. It all comes down several things. One of those is the fact that you survived Raccoon City. You being Chris's younger sister is only icing on the cake."

"What is it with you and Chris?" Claire asked him irritably. There seemed to be a tone with his voice when he said his name.

Wesker ignored her. "With that being said, I escorted you here to offer you a deal."

"And that is?"

"I would like you to work for me."

Claire actually, sincerely laughed. "'Work for you'?"

"You possess physical prowess, and have a natural subtly, something another operative of mine...lacks, shall we say. I think you would be quite adept for our kind of work. But by no means do I expect your answer this minute. Please feel free to think about it."

"Don't need to," Claire said icily. "I've got it right here." She lifted her hand and extended the middle finger. "Blow me."

Wesker seemed unfazed by her vulgar choice of words and gesture. He leaned back, tapping his fingers lightly together. The perpetual grin on his face didn't waver.

"I'm sorry to here that, Claire. Then I'll just have to kill you..."

The simplicity of how he said it is what made her blood run cold. Or maybe it was finally hearing it straight from his mouth, she didn't know. Either way, it scared her. She thought she could handle it when it came, and stare it in the face, but she was wrong. This wasn't like Raccoon; not an accident, but planned.

"...and then," Wesker added, leaning forward, all trace of his joy gone. "I'm going to have to kill Sherry."

Claire went white as a sheet. Her upper lip curled into a snarl. Already dosed with adrenaline, her heart began to throb in both anger and panic, the rise and fall of her bosom apparent through her shirt. Her hands curled into tighter fists, fingernails ready to cut into the butt of her palms.

"You bastard, you wouldn't dare..."

"As a survivor of Raccoon City, she'd be much better use to my organization dead than alive. Just another loose end. And Claire, I didn't get to where I was by daring..."

_He can't do this, he can't do this, he can't do this..._

"...it's a shame, too. You see, I was good friends with her father, who unfortunately-"

-Claire dove forward, snatching a pencil out of the cup, clamoring over the table to bring it down like a dagger into his neck-

-and suddenly felt herself twisted to the metal surface by her wrist. Wesker was leaning over her, his left hand pinned over her hand clasping the pencil, his right clutched around her throat. With a simple squeeze, he gripped her hand, snapping the pencil like a twig. The two halves fell to the table, then rolled off onto the floor.

Claire growled and thrashed, but Wesker applied more pressure to her arm, straight on her wrist, pinning it to the table top. She grabbed the wrist at her throat with her free hand and tried to pull it away. His arm may as well have been a metal beam. She was trapped, and hard.

"I can't count the times I had to reprimand Chris for losing his temper," Wesker remarked. "You truly are his beloved little sister that he enjoyed talking so much about."

"You..._fuck_..." Claire managed to choke out.

"You asked me 'what is it with me and Chris?'" Claire didn't respond, but when his hand over her throat tightened, she grunted in affirmation.

He leaned down, his face a foot away from hers. She suddenly went very still, staring into the black pools of the lens'. She could even see her face in them. Her reflection looked a lot more scared than she felt. Now the anger at his threat to Sherry was fading, and she was quickly catching up to the girl in the reflection.

"I..._despise_...Chris..." Wesker breathed, every word dripping with hate. "I despise what he is, what he's done, and what he stands to do..._That_, is what is up with me and Chris, Miss Redfield."

"Ugh, what're you going to do to him?" Claire grunted with a small squirm, which he easily halted.

"Oh, I've got plans, rest assured. No doubt I could even use you as bait. I'm sure your ever-so _caring_ brother would stop at nothing to rescue you."

"I'll never give him to you!" She'd kill herself long before he could use her to get to Chris. Not in a million years, when hell froze over-

"I wasn't intending on that. Chris and I will meet soon enough, and without your help. I've got a few ideas for you instead." He cocked his head to the side, like a hawk inspecting his prey. "Maybe I _should_ simply kill you. After all, you're not interested in my little deal, so why even bother?" The smile returned. "Oh, how your brother would _weep_ to see you die..."

When he spoke the word 'weep' the gloved hand tightened again. Claire couldn't draw a breath. Her thrashing resumed, but he still had her pinned with an immense force. Her legs kicked wildly, banging on the edges of the table. The turned over cup and its contents rolled to the floor, clattering dully in her ears.

"...no doubt he'd enjoy a picture of your corpse."

Seconds after spots began to appear in her sight, Wesker released his grip ever so slightly, allowing her to breathe But still, he forcefully held her neck. Claire choked and sputtered as she drew in precious air in large gasps through her mouth.

"But on the other hand, you're more use to me alive than dead. So, Miss Redfield, I will extend my offer to you once more. This time, I'm afraid, I'll require your answer immediately."

Live, and be his tool, or die. It didn't sound like much of a choice. She'd pick death any day. She'd happily die rather than let this freak have his way with her. But there was Sherry. Sweet, innocent, cute little Sherry. Now she was involved in this, because she was with Claire, because Claire let her get taken. Sherry didn't deserve any of this.

She bit her lower lip, not wanting to say it, of not wanting to possibility of breaking down in tears while he manhandled her like this. But there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Sherry had to come first.

"Okay..." she choked out. "On one condition..."

Wesker chuckled. "I don't think you're in any condition to bargain, my dear."

"Fine," she whispered. "Then I'll be waiting for you in hell."

Wesker's brows arched briefly, as if he was rolling his eyes. "What is it?"

"I want...to talk to her," Claire gasped, then coughed, adding strongly. "I want to talk to Sherry."

He paused for a minute. "Fine."

_Don't worry baby, I won't let you die..._

Wesker still did not release her throat, but he did let go of her wrist, which, like a magnet, joined her hand in gripping Wesker's own against her neck in a futile attempt to giver her throat more breathing room.

"One last thing, Miss Redfied," he said softly. "Though our contract is not official, I suggest you abide by the terms." He leaned even closer. "Because there are some things in this world that should not be crossed."

Slowly, with meticulous detail, he pulled off his shades.

Claire's eyes bulged as she let out a whimper. It didn't matter if she met Wesker in hell; it was the devil holding her now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

"Huh?" Claire jerked in her seat. It was a flight attendant.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Claire blinked. She hadn't realized she'd been shifting relentlessly in her seat for the last hour. Not to mention she was sweating lightly, and her normally neat hair was frizzed from relentless toying. The bruise on her throat had long vanished, but still showed signs of her encounter with Wesker. She noticed that the man across the aisle from her kept stealing a glance at her. Maybe it was him who notified the attendant.

"I'm...I'm fine," she said. "It's just something...personal. Thanks."

The woman smiled politely before making another round up the plane's aisle. Claire ran a hand through her frazzled hair, then leaned on the armrest hard, chin in hand. She stared at the empty seat next to her, feeling that rise of now familiar panic, but quickly quelled it. She remembered the conversation with Sherry. Either that girl was an award winning actress, or she was fine. The latter of the two choices seemed the most likely.

The long flight to Paris was nearing its end. It was night, and she was exhausted, but Claire hardly felt like sleeping. Her body wanted to rest, but her mind was still in a frenzy. Every second, it felt like she was doing something horrible and about to be caught, like willingly breaking the law. But she knew that it was far worse than that. A life of crime seemed like a luxury compared to what she was really doing.

_But it's all for Sherry...I just have to remember that...Helping the enemy...for Sherry._

Sherry...she should have been sitting right next to Claire, sleeping peacefully during the long flight. Claire should have been stroking her glossy blond hair. They should have landed in Paris without a problem, and found Chris right away. Then, all of them could stick it to Umbrella, and live happily ever after.

Yeah right.

Instead, Claire was alone, constantly running her fingers through her own brown hair. She wasn't going to Paris to find Chris, and she was sure that for whatever reason she was going there, it wasn't going to go without a problem. Claire half hoped that the plane would crash, killing her in the process. At least the shame of betrayal would go away.

The plane landed safely, and Claire made her way through the airport. Her luggage was waiting at the carousel. She'd missed her planned flight by an hour, but Wesker had been more than prepared with a new set of tickets. Her suitcase had even been removed from the plane and placed on the new one.

She wondered just how far his influence extended. She had half a mind to call Leon as soon as she was alone, but then realized she didn't have his number. So the cops instead...But as soon as she thought about it, the idea vanished. Wesker's men had no problem posing as cops, so what was stopping them from keeping tabs on her?

Outside of the airport, the air was bitterly cold. It might have been warm back home, but it was still the middle of December. Claire slipped her coat on, but the thin windbreaker didn't do much for the wind. It was easy to find a cab, and since she spoke a bit of French, directing the driver to the nearest hotel was easy.

As Claire leaned back, she felt the object in her back pocket, the big hunk of plastic and circuitry. She'd never used a cell phone before, but nonetheless, he'd given her one anyway. At first, she thought it might be some tracking device, and even contemplated throwing it away. But then she thought of Sherry. It was the same phone she'd talked to Sherry on, and Wesker said he would guarantee her safety, as long as she was a good girl. He said he would contact her, and if she didn't pick up...

The cab made its way through the Parisian night, making it to the hotel after a short drive. It was a few steps above a motel, but not exactly high class. In a matter of minutes, she was checked in and up in her room. The first thing she did was run the shower. When the water was steaming, she stripped and got in. She didn't bother washing herself; she just stood under the hot torrent, letting it soak her all over.

It wasn't working. Normally, the shower is where she found relaxation. That, and riding her bike. Not knowing what else to do, Claire slid down the tile of the wall, huddling with her arms around her knees, suddenly feeling very scared, as if the gravity of the situation was pressing down on her even more. The water still poured over, blotting her eyes, so she closed them.

_Sherry..._

* * *

Wesker released his hold on her, then dug into the pocket of his coat. Claire gasped and tenderly grabbed her throat, rolling to her side. Her eyes were still bulging from what they had just seen. Wesker's eyes had bored a whole straight through her skull. She became vaguely aware that Wesker was speaking into a cellular phone.

"Put her on."

He took the phone away from his ear, put his glasses back on, then turned to face Claire. She was grateful for that; she didn't want to see them again. No longer feeling like she did a minute ago, full of courage and defiance, Claire involuntarily shifted back as he turned his attention on her. Now she knew what lay behind his cool dark exterior.

"I shouldn't have to tell you, Miss Redfield," he said quietly, "That you cannot reveal your situation to Sherry. If you even hint that something is not what it should be..."

He didn't finish. Claire didn't need him to. She shakily nodded her head, then slid off the table, leaning weakly against it. Wesker raised the phone to his ear again and listened for a second, then held it out. She took it in a shaking hand, then held it to her own ear.

"Sherry? Sweetie?"

"_Hi Claire!_" came the girl's chipper voice.

Claire let out the tiniest sigh of relief. "It's good to hear your voice, Sherry."

"_Are you with Uncle Albert right now?_"

_Uncle Albert..._

She shot Wesker the most venomous glare she could muster in her state. The man's facial expression didn't change as he observed her. Sherry didn't sound scared or worried at all. On the contrary. She seemed, happy? Content? Did she already know Wesker? He'd said something about her dad before she lost it.

"Yeah, I'm talking with him right now."

"_I'm real sorry I ran off without waiting for you, but he said that he already talked to you, and that I should go with him. Are you coming soon?_"

It pained Claire to have to lie to her, but it was for her own good. "Sorry Sherry, I have to go take care of some things for Uncle Albert. Be sure to be a real good girl until I get back, 'kay?"

"_Okay,_" said Sherry, sounding a little crestfallen. "_I'll see you soon though, right?_"

"As soon as I can, baby. Oh, sorry, didn't mean to call you that."

Sherry giggled. "_It's alright, I know what you mean. But hurry if you can. I really like Uncle Albert. He was my dad's best friend, and he's got a lot of cool stuff, but I like hanging out with you more._"

Wesker raised his hand, requesting the phone. Their conversation was over.

"So do I Sherry. Listen, I have to g-go now," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I'll see you real soon."

"_Is something wrong?_"

"No, everything is just fine!" Claire said, hoping she didn't sound overly giddy. "Bye Sherry!"

"_Bye Claire!_"

Claire handed the phone back to Wesker, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She didn't know why, but hearing Sherry, completely unaware and unharmed, while very relieving, was also very unsettling. It only meant that he really was in control. Why he wanted a little girl like Sherry was beyond her. It couldn't be just to get leverage over herself. She doubted he would tell her if she asked.

Wesker shut the phone after making sure the line was dead.

"So, what now?" Claire asked.

* * *

Claire flipped a handful of her sopping hair back. The shower still poured over her. She wished she could sit under the hot stream forever. But eventually, the water would go cold, or she would pass out from the heat. She got up, swooning a bit as the blood rushed from her head, and shut the water off.

The bathroom was thick with steam. Claire wiped the mirror clean of fog and peered back into her ocean blue eyes. Did Wesker really have a use for her, or was there something else behind this?

_What if he really is just trying to get to Chris? He knows he's in Europe somewhere. He could have just been lying through his teeth._

She wouldn't put it past Wesker to do something like that. But like it or not, she was in no position to make assumptions. This was a dangerous game, one that involved Sherry. What if Chris really was his target? What would happen if she found him? Claire almost trembled at the thought of having to choose between Sherry and Chris.

Claire tried to shake the nightmare thoughts from her head. It was possible that she might not even live to see Chris again. She'd seen the movies, read the books; she was a spy now, albeit a reluctant, accidental one. Overnight her life had suddenly got a lot more dangerous.

Once she toweled off, she dragged a comb through her hair, then slipped her underwear and shirt back on. She neglected to bring her pajama pants. It was just a part of her normal life she had to leave behind.

She crawled into the sheets of the bed. The mattress wasn't as soft as the one she'd grown used to back in her dorm room. It didn't feel that sleep was going to come easy, either. Though she was tired from the massive jet lag, as well as sapped from her long shower, Claire's mind was still active. In the darkness of the room, she stared where the cell phone sat: right on the nightstand.

_When will he call?_

Claire continued to stare at it, her mind wandering. Then it rang abruptly, an electronic trill that cut through the silence. In a rush, she realized that the room was no longer dark, but gradually growing brighter with the rising sun.

The phone rang again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The effects of sleep kicked in. Claire felt sluggish as she groped for the phone and kicked the sheets from her bare legs. Taking a moment to collect herself and clear her mind, she flipped the mouthpiece down, then pressed the green talk button.

"H-Hello?"

"_There's a package for you downstairs._"

The line clicked dead. Claire took the phone from her ear and stared at it, for a minute wondering if it was going to do something else. Then she closed the mouth piece and set the phone back on the night stand. The voice had been so quick, and she had still been a little out of it. She didn't know if it was even Wesker on the other side.

Nevertheless, she dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of jeans, then quickly combed her brown locks straight, putting them into her usual ponytail. She didn't bother to lace her boots up. In two minutes, she was down in the lobby, approaching the man behind the desk.

"Um...Bonjour," she said then decided to skip trying to recall the language, "Uh...Parlez-vous anglais?"

"Oui, Mademoiselle," said the middle aged man with a smile. "Can I help you?"

"Did some kind of package arrive for me?"

"Yes. It arrived only an hour ago. May I have your name and room number?"

Claire gave him the information and he disappeared through the door behind the counter for a minute, then returned carrying a small box. She had to fill a small form, then took the package and retreated back to her room, making sure the door was locked behind her.

It was an ordinary shipping box, the label on it indicating that it had come from somewhere in the country. She broke the tape that sealed it with a fingernail, then peeled it away, opening it. Immediately, she let out a small gasp of surprise. There was a gun inside.

_Get a grip, it's not like you've never seen one, let alone shot one._

She was more surprised that Wesker would arm her, not at the gun itself. It looked brand new, fresh off out of the factory. With a bit of unease, she took it out of the box. The slide was silver, gleaming with a thin coat of oil. The stamp on the side read FNP-45. The ammo stamp read .45 ACP, a little bigger than the 9mm she shot in Raccoon. The clip was full, but Claire didn't take the time to count the bullets.

She set the gun on the bed, then looked in the box again. There was a file beneath it. The contents were meaningless to her; they were just a bunch of building schematics with data.

An hour later, the phone rang again.

This time, the electronic ring made her jump. It had been so quite in the room. To pass the time, she was counting the rounds in the gun and neatly placing them in a row on the nightstand. The FNP held 14. When the phone rang, she bumped the stand, causing several rounds to fall over and roll off the table. Hastily, she activated the phone and held it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"_How's Paris, Miss Redfield?_"

This time, it _was_ Wesker.

Claire pursed her lips. "It's fine." She wished she could come up with a witty comeback, but nothing came to mind to say to the bastard.

"_You received our package?_"

"Yeah, just wish you were here so I could try out my new toy."

"_Temper, Claire, temper...Now, since you are equipped, you can begin your first assignment._"

Claire stayed silent.

"_Do you know anything about the history of Umbrella?_"

"No, and I really don't give a rat's ass."

Wesker continued as if she hadn't spoken. "_Umbrella was founded by three individuals. One of those individuals was Edward Ashford._ _To make a long story very short, his descendant, Alfred Ashford, possesses something which my organization would very much like._"

"So he's here in Paris and you want me to find him?"

"_No, unfortunately. Our information indicates he manages a small base somewhere in the Atlantic, Rockfort Island._"

"Where's that?"

Wesker laughed. "_If I knew that, I would go myself, rather than waste my time recruiting you._ _That's what we want you to find out: the location._ _You're to meet with your contact. She'll explain the rest of the details._"

The line went dead, and Claire had to stop herself from throwing the phone against the wall in frustration. Wesker left her with more questions than answers. Who the hell was her contact? And 'she'? Another woman?

At first Claire felt defeated and lost. But then she had another look inside the box and noticed something she didn't before: it was a small card. She picked it up and held it to the light; it was a business card.

"Cafe Delmas..." she murmured aloud, then flipped it over. Handwritten on the back was the time 11:30, followed by, to Claire's surprise and disgust, a deep red kiss mark.

_11:30...that must mean this morning...I have to meet her at Cafe Delmas by then._

Claire glanced at the clock. She had woken up at around six-ish, and now it was almost eight. She had plenty of time to get ready and find the place. No doubt it was close to the hotel, and if she needed directions, she could read a map.

After she showered, she changed into a fresh pair of jeans and shirt, then after a moments hesitation, slipped her red "Let Me Live" Valkyrie vest on over her shirt. All of her vests were considered lucky in her eyes, and she felt that she really needed a change in it. After further hesitation, she loaded the rounds back into the FNP and racked the slide, chambering a round. Making very sure that the safety was on, she tucked the gun into a zipped pocked inside her vest.

* * *

Cafe Delmas was packed. There was both indoor and outdoor seating, but the weather was shuttling everyone inside. Waiters and waitresses were busily moving from table to table, taking orders and bringing food. The air was alive with the buzz of the language that Claire grew tired of after three years in high school. She caught a few other languages in between the rustle; apparently, she wasn't the only foreign person.

_But who the heck am I looking for? Wesker didn't give me a description. He said it was a woman, but that's like half the people here._

Women with children, businesswomen, and even more college age girls. Which one of them worked for Wesker?

"Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle Redfield?"

Claire jerked her head to the nearest table. It was a solitary woman, sipping a cup. Unremarkable, wearing a simple red tank-top and jeans. She also wore a pair of sunglasses, which Claire assumed was because the table she was sitting at caught all of the afternoon light through the window. For some reason, it reminded her of Wesker. She smiled at Claire, a smile of proud, smooth arrogance.

"Je ne parle pas francais," Claire said darkly.

The woman's smile broadened. "Then we'll stick with what we know best. Please, have a seat." She gestured to the other chair. "Did you want something to drink? My treat, of course."

Claire hesitated a brief second before she sat down opposite her. The other woman was a quite a bit older than her. Her voice was a low, sultry purr, with a subtle undertone despite the sound. The freshly manicured nails of her hand toyed with the handle of her cup as she looked at her from behind the dark lens'.

Claire shook her head. "You're my 'contact'?"

The woman nodded. "Yes. I take it you got the package?"

This time it was Claire's turn to nod. "So what is it I'm supposed to do? Wesker didn't exactly give me the specifics."

"He does that from time to time," the woman said mildly, swirling the liquid in her cup before taking a sip. "The Paris facility is one of Umbrella's main facilities in Europe. As you no doubt know, the company is taking a lot of strain after the outbreak. Despite this, they're keeping up public appearances."

Claire arched her eyebrow as the woman stopped. "So..."

"So..." the woman said patiently, "The building runs public tours into the evening. During the evening shifts, the staff is thin, which should allow you to sneak around easier."

"And I'm looking for information on Rockfort Island?"

"Correct."

"But what kind exactly?"

The woman shrugged. "Files, discs, anything that you might find. An address might be helpful."

Claire didn't like where this was going. "So why me? If you know what to do, why doesn't he send you? You're even here already!"

The woman sipped her cup again with a sigh. "Sometimes, I think he just likes to tease me. But in all honesty, there's another reason." She reached and scratched the back of her neck, just at the line of her jet black hair. Claire spotted it, surprised she hadn't before.

There was a bandage rolled around her shoulder. Her top covered most of it, but it was noticeable.

_She's hurt..._

But from what, that's what Claire wanted to know. _How many ways could a spy get hurt?_ A lot, she figured, and none of them sounded appealing. She was going to say something, but decided against it; she didn't want to antagonize her.

The woman brought the cup to her lips a final time, draining it's contents. "I really must be going, Claire."

"Wait!" she protested, "What am I suppose to do afterwards?"

"We'll contact you sometime tomorrow," the woman assured her as she stood, plucking a coat from the back of her chair. "We'll be watching you very closely."

She left, her last words leaving a chill in Claire's spine. It reminded her of the seriousness of her situation, and worse, the situation Sherry was in. Her first mission for Wesker...It didn't sound like he was the type to be all understanding if she screwed up.

_I have to do this, I canNOT fuck this up._

* * *

Claire fucked it up.

"I said freeze!" barked a voice behind her.

Claire didn't, only willing more power into her legs in an attempt to outrun her pursuers. Then came the chatter of an automatic weapon. A burst of rounds sprayed the ground at her feet, bits of shrapnel bouncing off of the cuff of her jeans.

-_Jesus they're shooting at me-_

The crazy police chief Irons held a gun on her in Raccoon, but this was the first time she was shot at, and it scared her. It fueled her even more. She was long past the point of finishing her job. Now it was about survival; she wanted out.

"Damn it, I said hold it!"

So much for the staff being thin. It really didn't matter when security wasn't. Almost as soon as she wandered off the tour, she walked right into a patrol. They didn't even give her a chance to explain herself. The next thing she knew, she was running as fast as she could, and in a few minutes, was lost. At first, they just chased her, but then they drew weapons. Panicked, Claire shot at them. Now they were shooting back.

Alarms blared through every speaker. Warning lights flashed down each hall. What had to be a cluster of a dozen men chased after her. A few of them had rifles, others had pistols. When she dashed around the next corner and began yet another endless sprint, she chanced a look behind her. Now there were only two guards following her.

_They're trying to get around me. I'm going to run right into them!_

She bolted into the next hall she could find, hoping that in the process she would throw them for a loop. Two more gunshots sounded, taking out chunks of the wall next to her. Ahead of her, there was a window. It was a way out! Her gun was already in her hand. All she needed to do was shoot through it-

-a white light blinded her as something appeared in the window. Claire grunted and through up her hands, wincing. She heard the sound of the helicopter, right outside of the glass. It's spotlight was pointing directly on her.

Through the cracks of her fingers, she saw something that made her eyes go wide. It had to be the biggest gun Claire had ever seen. The many barrels it had began to spool up, spinning faster and faster.

She gasped in fear, then turned on the spot, diving to the side into what she hoped was another exit. Something tugged at her arm as she dove past, presumably one of the guards, but his fingers were barely able to hold on. The gun opened up, shattering the window and sending a deadly stream of bullets into the building. The guards screamed in agony briefly as their bodies were ripped apart.

Clare scrambled to her feet and took off again. The spotlight followed her as the helicopter outside strafed the side of the building. It fired again, the stream of ammo ripping into the hall just behind her, almost comically chasing her. With nothing but the sound of destruction in her ears, she put on a burst of speed, then vaulted through the door that came into view.

Pain blossomed all over her body as she tumbled down a flight of stairs. As she hit the last one, she miraculously turned her fall into a roll and got to her feet-

-then stopped short with a gasp. The room echoed with the racking actions of a dozen weapons, all pointed at her. Guards, too many to count. Claire gulped and raised her hands in defeat, but then noticed the wall behind them. It was lined with a bunch of silver canisters.

_It works in the movies..._

Claire dropped her gun, feinting her surrender. At the last possible second, she collapsed at the knees and snatched her gun out of the air, pulling the trigger as fast as she could and-

_BOOM_

The explosion rolled her over. The air was full of the sound of fire and screams of pain. Then, in an instant, it was over. Claire lifted her head from under her arms and surveyed the room. It looked like...well...like a bomb had just gone off. Everything was scarred black, and the few whole bodies she saw weren't moving.

By the time she heard the footsteps behind her, it was too late. Claire spun onto her back and stuck her gun up, only to have one stuck right back in her face. She looked past the sights in dismay. Her own gun had jammed, or she was out; she really didn't remember.

"Don't move..." said the Hispanic man holding the gun.

Her hand wavered for a bit, then released its death grip on the weapon. It fell to the ground with a clatter. As soon as it did, the man flipped her over, pressing her arm into her back with his knee. Claire felt the familiar sensation of metal bands circling her wrists. She didn't try to resist.

All she could think about was how she failed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Many, many, many thanks to Andrea Tyler for beta-reading this chapter. You did an awesome job!**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"Answer the question, Miss Redfield."

"But I already told you!" Claire sighed. She was getting tired of hearing 'Miss Redfied'. First Wesker, then her contact, now Umbrella. It was starting to feel like she didn't have a first name anymore. "I was looking for my brother!"

Three days. It had been three days since she'd been hiked off the floor in cuffs. That was another thing. What was it with her and handcuffs? Even though they paraded her back and forth to the same room, she had no idea of the layout of wherever she was, and certainly neither the strength nor tools with which she could make an escape.

Umbrella made thoroughly sure that she was completely unarmed. She had been swept by about 3 different metal detectors, then frisked almost to the point of strip search several times. They kept her in a holding cell overnight; and with only her clothes and her thoughts, she was essentially harmless.

Then, the next morning, the questions came. They escorted her (cuffed again) to an interrogation room, the kind like it the TV police dramas: bare, save for a table and chairs, and a mirror that took up half a wall. Claire guessed that it was one of those special kinds that you could see through on the other side. Whoever was watching her from the other side was anyone's guess.

The first day, they asked everything about her, starting with her name; first, middle, and last. After that came her birth date, her hometown, and her college. Then, the names of her deceased parents, immediate family, and friends. Umbrella was methodically picking her apart, attempting to get a clean view of the girl that rose hell in one of their core facilities. Claire thought about lying, but they'd probably find that out pretty quick. No, her best bet was to play as dumb as she could get away with.

Now, more than ever, she was grateful to her and Leon's plan they started three months ago. They had decided to keep their lips' zipped about the truth behind Raccoon City, until they could gather solid evidence. This meant that Umbrella couldn't prove anything about them, and so, logically the company wouldn't deem them as a threat. But as she sat in that bare room after being shot at the day before, she began to think that that wouldn't really matter; Umbrella could just kill her anyways. Who would know?

After the first day, the real questions started. Claire could honestly say she saw most of them coming. They were all questions pertaining to Raccoon City and the outbreak. She was able to dance around them, gloss over events, mixing in lies with truth. Yes, she'd been there, no, she didn't know the cause of it. Yes, she met other survivors, but she didn't keep in contact with them. Even harder was to keep Wesker out of it.

Now, three days later, the same questions came around. Clearly, they were trying to see if she was staying consistent.

"You broke into the secure section of this facility, looking for your brother, Chris?" said the voice on the other side of the mirror, the tone dubious through the intercom.

"Yes," Claire said flatly.

"Why?"

"'Cause I thought he might be here."

"Why would you think that?"

"I was at the RPD in Raccoon, and I found his diary. It mentioned something about him going to Paris, and something about Umbrella. He's a real prick when he's angry, so I wanted to stop him from doing something stupid."

The intercom paused. Perhaps they were debating her answer.

"Where did you get your gun?"

"I bought it off a guy on the street."

"How much did you pay for it?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Miss Redfield-"

"I dunno!" she shouted, throwing up her arms suddenly in an outburst of frustration. "I don't know the damn exchange rate! He just took a wad of cash. It was probably a couple hundred bucks."

"Was there a reason why you thought you needed a gun, and that you needed to trespass here?"

"Hey," she said, leaning back on the stiff metal chair. "You're talking a girl who shot her way through a bunch of monsters. I sleep with a gun under my pillow now. As to why I came here, I already told you."

The intercom paused again, this time longer. Claire sighed irritably and crossed her arms and legs. At first the tough girl act was a farce, but now, her true feelings were beginning to show. This was maddening.

"You know, you can't just hold me here," she said. "You're not the cops. I know my rights."

No answer. Another sigh escaped Claire's lips.

"What is your relationship with Leon Kennedy?"

"My relationship?" she asked incredulously. "We're not exactly dating, if that's what you mean. He saved my ass a couple of times. Don't know where he is now."

"Very well. That will be all for today, Miss Redfield."

_Ugh, stop calling me that!_

The door buzzed, the electronic lock releasing. Two guards walked in. Obediently, she stood up and let one take her by the wrist and reapply the handcuffs. Fighting back wasn't a good idea at this point. Now that Umbrella had caught her, they probably wouldn't have any qualms about killing her. Better to play dumb and bitchy.

Leading her by the arm, they took her back to her cell, a lonely, dark corner of a sub-basement. Once they were outside of her cell, they removed the cuffs, shoved her forward into the room, and locked her in, their footsteps echoing as they walked away.

Claire lowered herself onto the thin mattress that served as her cot. She predicted, based on the cycle of the previous days that her usual evening slop would be showing up in about an hour. Which was pretty much all she had to look forward to. That, and the sleepless night that would follow. It was very noisy in her cell. She guessed that the little room shared a wall with a boiler room or a generator or something. Even if it weren't for the noise, though, there were always the million thoughts—everything from wondering if she would ever see Sherry, Chris or Leon again to vivid images of her own torture concocted by her imagination—running through her head.

With nothing to do but think, she sighed and slumped backwards onto the cot, then began to count the seconds away. At least the overwhelming sense of failure had disappeared in the last day. It almost brought her to tears the first night there. She failed her mission, but she was still alive. That had to at least count for something. As long as she was still breathing, she still had a chance to save Sherry.

* * *

"Could you tell us again how you escaped Raccoon City?"

Claire massaged her temples, trying to ease the growing tension in her head. This was their form of torture; it had to be. "Me and Leon got through to the sewers. We managed to get into a subway tunnel, then followed it out of the city. I'm pretty sure that's what I said last time."

_...and the time before that..._

She hadn't had a shower in over a week. Now, the only company she had in her cell was the growing scent of her own body. It wasn't that bad, but Claire hated to think that she stunk. The long shower she took when she arrived seemed like a year ago.

"When did you come across Sherry Birkin?"

Sherry...This was new. They hadn't asked about her yet, but why now? "Sherry Birkin?" she repeated, as if she hadn't heard correctly.

"Yes. News sources state that she was with Leon Kennedy and yourself. Do you deny this?"

"No. We...found her in the RPD. She was alone."

"Did she tell you about her parents?"

"Yeah, I think she said that they worked at a chemical plant just outside of Raccoon or something."

"Do you know where is right now?"

"Not exactly," Claire said as she hooked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, feigning ignorance. "Leon took the liberty of dropping her off in foster home, or an orphanage, one of the two. Someone who could watch her better."

"You didn't let her stay with you?"

"I'm a college kid with no parents," she stated flatly. "I barely make it by the way it is. I can't afford having a little brat eating into my savings."

_God, Sherry, you know I don't think of you like that! I can't believe I just said that..._

As her guards marched her back to her cell after the questioning ended, Claire found herself pondering. As much as she hated to admit it, Sherry was probably safest with Wesker. He could keep her away from Umbrella much better than she or Leon ever could. But there was no way that she was going to even consider keeping it that way. Umbrella was going to burn first, Wesker would follow soon after.

* * *

On the tenth day, her two usual guards didn't take her to the interrogation room, instead veering sharply in another direction towards an elevator. Needless to say, Claire was surprised, and more than a little fearful; what were they going to do with her? She'd thought of the possibilities, she had plenty of time for that in her cell. Death barely made it to the top of the list...in fact, that was one of the tamer ones.

As they marched her to the elevator at the end of the corridor, she steeled herself and asked where they were going, with confidence that she did not truly possess at this point.

"_We're_ not going anyway," one said. "_You're_ the one being moved."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me where?" she replied icily, thoroughly expecting that they had no intention of answering her.

"Rockfort Island."

_Oh, no way..._

The very place Wesker wanted her to find, and now she was being transported there. Great! Now if only she had a way of contacting him before she was shipped off. In the back of her mind, though, she wondered if this had somehow been a part of Wesker's plan all along.

The doors to the elevator opened, and a gust of wind swept in, startling her with its sudden coldness. Most of the chill, however, wasn't from the weather. A helicopter was perched on the roof, blades spinning in preparation for takeoff. The Hispanic man who had caught her over a week ago was standing near it, staring off into space, his arms crossed over his chest. He noticed their movement and looked up. Claire shot him an angry look as the guards dragged her closer. In spite of her silent vow to not do anything that could provoke her captors, she obviously didn't want anything to do with this man. He returned her scowl and made his way closer to the guards and their prisoner, meeting them about twenty feet from the helicopter.

Claire had a split-second view of his hands rising in front of her before her vision turned to near black. She distinctly felt the rough, grainy texture of burlap brushing against her skin.

"What the hell is this for?" she demanded in muffled outrage, struggling to instinctively back away as a foul odor permeated her nostrils.

"It's either this, or I crack you in the back of the head," the Hispanic man said with a smirk in his voice as Claire felt his hand grab her by the arm. "Get moving."

He grabbed her roughly towards the steps leading into the deafening machine, and gave her a most unceremonious shove towards the helicopter cabin, almost knocking her flat on her face as her feet tripped over the steps, causing her to stumble. Grateful that the bag hid her reddened face, she was able to maintain her balance and what remained of her dignity as he 'guided' her into a seat, then buckled a seatbelt over her lap, tightening it with a single jerking motion and a slight grunt of effort.

_I doubt he's worried about my safety. Probably just doesn't want me kicking his ass._

The inside of the bag was warm and uncomfortable from her trapped breathing. The reek of the unknown, foul odor that had embedded itself into the material of the bag increased with the heat. In spite of her numerous suspicions as to the origin of the smell, Claire dealt with it quietly. Whatever the cause, dealing with this smell certainly beat getting brain damage.

She felt the helicopter take flight, the wavering, shaky flight almost nauseating without the images to go with it. With no way to even think of which way they were headed, Claire leaned back, trying to get as much comfort as her position would allow. That familiar, numb feeling was already beginning to tingle in her fingers as the cuffs around her wrists resisted her blood flow.

It was going to be a long flight.

* * *

**Author's note: Finally, an update! Sorry Lara for taking so long, but I should be on track, now that you gave me some ideas. Thank you once again, Andrea Tyler, for taking the time to beta read this and all the suggestions you gave me.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you Andrea Tyler for beta-reading! Love all of your revisions!**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

"Hey, Uncle Albert?" Sherry asked tentatively, looking up from the book she was reading. It was an introduction to biology, a high school textbook. She'd been reading it for the past few days. All of the stuff inside it was really cool. When Uncle Albert had first given her the book, she was nervous that she might not understand anything. But to her surprise, it was all really easy to understand. Not like that boring stuff she did in school. This was all so much more interesting, and, dare she say it—_cool._

"Yes Sherry?" Uncle Albert responded absently as he turned a page in his own book. He had taken his glasses off, the black lenses folded neatly on the coffee table in front of him. When she first saw his eyes, they had scared her a bit. It reminded her of what she'd seen in Raccoon City. But, Uncle Albert wasn't like the monsters in the city. He would never hurt her.

Together they sat in a well lit living room, each of them in cushy chairs opposite a table alongside a fireplace. It was already late December, so a small fire crackled in the hearth, providing warmth to the whole room. His fancy apartment was almost as spacious as her old house, but way up in a building. They even had their own private elevator to get to the door. Sherry shook herself from her thoughts and focused on her current question.

"Where's Claire? I haven't talked to her in ages."

"Oh, she's very busy, I'm afraid. Claire has been doing some important work for me. I'm sure you'll hear from her again very soon." There was a brief pause. "It wouldn't be like her to just leave you."

"Yeah," Sherry agreed with a smile, warmth at the reaffirmation of her impending reunion with Claire welling up inside her. "That wouldn't be like her at all. So what's she doing? Is she still in Europe?"

Uncle Albert nodded. "Yes. It just so happened my business needed some work done there, and Claire was the perfect person for the job. I expect to hear from her very shortly."

Sherry's eyes lit up as a fourth question occurred to her. "When you do, do you think I could say hi?"

He smiled at her. Without the glasses, he looked a lot friendlier, even with his strange and vibrant eyes, which admittedly, Sherry first thought looked rather evil. She no longer felt that way. When he smiled with his glasses on, he appeared cold and uncaring, and his smile, a tight, obligatory gesture, underlined that. When he smiled without them, his eyes seemed warm and friendly, just like any one else's would. In the right lighting, she could almost trick herself into thinking they were simply a very light brown. He nodded at her, a rare, mirthful glint in his eyes as he did so, as if recalling a joke.

"Of course."

Satisfied, Sherry beamed at him and returned to her book, deciding not to pester her kind host any further…for the time being, anyways. She stared at the pages, and for the first time didn't absorb the text as she lost herself in her own thoughts.

Albert Wesker was so different from her Mom and Dad. It wasn't that she didn't love them, or miss them very, very much. She reflected on that every night; even cried about it for the first month afterwards. But Claire was always there to comfort her. As someone who had gone through something similar, it had been wonderful to have someone with whom she could relate.

Uncle Albert was...just what was he? He listened to her, even if sometimes it was only a little bit. But it was never "another time Sherry, I'm busy," or "not right now, I'm leaving soon." He always made some time for her amongst his roster of duties.

And while she felt guilty reflecting on it, Uncle Albert was just...more fun to be with than her parents. He had a lot of cool stuff, was just as smart as her Dad, cool looking—he and her even looked something alike—, and best of all, he was friends with Claire. Maybe they could be with each other more once Claire finished working for him? The idea made her shiver with excitement. But she needed to focus on what he had discussed with her earlier.

He was going to enroll her in a private school, an idea that Sherry at first didn't like. After all, who liked school? She had found it boring and tedious. But the more he told her about this specific school and what she was in for, the more she liked the idea. He wanted her to excel, to do the best she could. She wanted to learn, to make her parents proud. Uncle Albert told her she was smart, but she never understood why. Her grades in school were only okay. His only response had been that he could see her potential.

The two continued reading their respective literature for the next half hour or so in silence, save for the rustling of pages and the crackling of the fire. Then, an electronic chime broke the ambiance. Uncle Albert lowered his book and reached into his pocket, taking out his cell phone. Not a lot of people had them yet, but they were getting really popular. He checked the caller ID and stood.

He politely excused himself, then shut his book, setting it on the table next to his glasses, then left the room. Sherry could only surmise that it had been some boring business call that he didn't want to distract her with, and smothered her disappointment with the assurance that soon, Claire would be the one calling.

* * *

"What is it?" Wesker asked as soon as he was outside of earshot of his young charge.

"_They're moving her,_" came Ada's low purr through the ear piece. "_A chopper just left Paris, heading southwest._"

"They're early," he mused. "I figured they would hold her for far longer than ten days."

"_You and me both. I almost missed the chance to tag the last chopper._"

"Did Umbrella obtain anything from her?"

"_I have no idea. If they broke her, they probably wouldn't be transferring her to Rockfort. My guess is that she was a good little girl and kept her lips zipped. Even if she did squeal on us, they wouldn't risk sending her to Rockfort if there was a possibility of her being tracked. I think we're still in the clear._"

"You're tracking it then? Good. Where is it now?" He didn't have to strain his ears to hear the light patter of keystrokes in the background.

"_Still over the Atlantic, quite a ways off the coast._"

"Things are looking up then. What of the organization's teams?"

"_Fully loaded and ready. We've obtained several aircraft, as you requested._"

"Good. I'll be there shortly. I need you to remain in Paris."

"_Got it._"

Wesker snapped the phone shut and slid it back into his pocket, then stared blankly out the window, allowing the news to sink in and infiltrate his plans. Things were looking up indeed. His timetable had just been moved up. Within a few hours, they would know the location of Rockfort Island, and in a few more, be there and in control of everything.

Then, he would find Alexia.

He'd heard so much of the lost Ashford genius. She was intelligent beyond belief, a trait matched only by her beauty...at least, those were the rumors. That was 15 years ago. Back then, she was considered a beautiful girl. Now, she had to be a women of at least 27, no doubt reaching the prime of her beauty.

But he was interested far more in what flowed through her veins. Most assumed that Alexia Ashford was long dead, or never existed in the first place, a mere story invented by her demented brother. But the organization was quite old. They were aware of Alexander's experiments and the results they produced. They missed their chance 15 years ago, when she first went into cyrostasis. But now, he had the chance to take the virus from her sleeping body.

All thanks to Claire Redfield.

He opened the door to the study, finding Sherry still obediently reading her book. She was a remarkable child. He doubted that William and Annette, busy as they were with their precious G-virus, ever realized her true potential. She was very intelligent; with borderline, if not _complete_ genius potential. Had her parents noticed her natural sharp-mindedness and intense thirst for learning and enrolled her in the proper school, it would have become glaringly obvious. He would be patient; in the years to come, Sherry would grow to be his ace in the hole. It would be so subtle, that even she herself wouldn't notice the transference of her affection from Claire to himself. Even now, she was already growing attached to him, or rather, the image of the 'surrogate father' he maintained in her presence.

_Things are looking up indeed..._

Wesker took his jacket from the back of the chair he'd been sitting on. It was time for him to take his leave. "I'm afraid business calls, Sherry," he announced, careful to keep his tone apologetic as he placed his sunglasses back over his eyes. "I must leave for a while. You are to continue your studies while I am away, after all, you need to be ready for the entrance exams in one month, and it wouldn't do for you to slack off."

"No problem!"

* * *

_Owwww...._

Claire let out a low groan, then felt the base of her skull, the distinct edge of a scabbing wound stinging at the salt of her fingertips. She hissed in pain and withdrew her hand.

_Bastards..._

With some effort, she rose on her hands, and her skull erupted into pain, causing her to release another hiss of held breath. Gingerly, she felt the tender spot again, forcing her hand to remain over the wound, feeling a thin, scratchy line of dried blood. It wasn't as large as she initially thought, but damn, did it ever _hurt! _Deciding wisely to not pick at the still-healing wound, she rolled over and sat on the cold stone floor, trying to massage the ache from her temples. It wasn't working. More than likely, the ache was due to her dehydration. She couldn't remember the last time she had something to drink.

And speaking of memories...

Just what the hell happened? Claire remembered a really long, very uncomfortable flight which ended in her being roughly pulled from the helicopter, then dragged down a flight of stairs. Then, the cuffs came off (finally) and the bag was ripped from her head. She had just a moment to blink and shake her head before someone told her a number which she no longer remembered, then _CRACK._

The pain dissipated slightly over the next few minutes of flashes of the events of hours ago, giving Claire a chance to take in more of her surroundings. She was in yet another cell, the same dingy-walled one she glimpsed briefly when the bag came off. She was still wearing the same clothes, so no one decided to have a little fun with her unconscious body...or at least decided to put them back on after they did. The thought made Claire's skin crawl and her stomach churn in distaste. To be absolutely certain, she gave herself a quick search. Underwear, check, no clothes ripped or unbuttoned, check, no pain, check. Relieved, she sighed and allowed her thoughts to drift. It was quiet.

_No...wait..._

...she heard a faint sound...was it gunfire? She heard a faint popping sound...was it gunfire? Then, a few louder pops, barely louder than the first. After a few seconds, the ground vibrated, a bit of loose rock crumbling from the corner of her cell. Another volley of puffs, and the lights flickered, then went out entirely, plunging her into darkness. Some ambient machinery must have switched off, because Claire's hearing got better, the outside noises becoming sharper. There was one last muted explosion, this this time much closer, and the faint sound of a jet engine quickly fading away. Whatever had been happening had died down.

_Emphasis on the 'died' part. Just what the hell did happen? That much gunfire, and if those were explosions, then is this place being attacked?_

A flurry of what-ifs ran through her head. What if no one came back for her, and she starved in the cell or died of thirst? Or maybe she misinterpreted the attack and everything was normal. What if Umbrella decided to experiment on her, or turned her into one of the monsters she saw in Raccoon? Every question in her mind seemed to end with her death, or worse.

Claire stepped forward cautiously, barely able to make out the bars of her cell. She touched the cold metal with one hand, a crushing despair settling over her. She let out a soft sigh then hugged one her arms gently over her body for warmth from the chill air.

_How the hell did I end up here? Sorry Cheryl, but it doesn't look like I'll be back as soon as I said...and Sherry...God, will I ever see you again?_

Trying not to tear up from the possibility of not seeing her friends again, she hugged herself tighter, then felt a hard lump press against her left breast, and her arms slackened slightly. There was something in her vest. She reached to the interior, then felt the lining. Of course! With the way the pocket sat and the broken zipper folded awkwardly into the lining, Umbrella had somehow missed it entirely! What they missed was the question as Claire used her fingernails to awkwardly pry the zipper up and open the pocket. She recognized the shape as soon as her hands closed on it.

_I thought I lost this!_

It was the oil lighter that Chris had given her a few years back. It was an old family heirloom, he told her, which had made her feel even worse when she thought she lost it. Apparently, it had been hiding in the broken pocket of the vest for quite a while. Just holding the small, gold lighter, warm from her own body made her feel better, like Chris was pulling some strings to make her feel better in some divine way. She didn't want to blind herself with sudden light, now that she could begin to make out shapes in the dark, so she didn't bother lighting it.

Past the bars was a small room, very sparsely furnished with a cluttered desk and a chair. A door stood cracked open next to the desk. There was only a single small window, and judging by what little light was coming through, and the fact that the room was already in total darkness, she guessed it was night. Rockfort Island couldn't be just a single cell and office. Was this some kind of holding cell for new prisoners?

Then, from beyond the door, she heard the footsteps; uneven and staggering. Claire gasped softly as the door slowly opened, and a figure stumbled through, clutching a wound. Very slowly, she backed away from the bars. Though the scene was without the odor of rotting flesh, the silhouette looked all too familiar; the slumped head and shoulders, the way he walked...just like Raccoon.

_No, it couldn't happen again...see? He's trying to do something with the door. One of those things wouldn't be doing that._

The figure was busily fiddling with her cell door, perhaps trying to open it. Claire drew back another step, horrible images of what a drunken guard would do to a young, unarmed woman flashing through her mind. But she was going to make damn sure that if that was his intention, she didn't make it easy for him. At the same time, though, she could hear the pained wheezing of his breath, and the way he held himself with one arm.

_Is he hurt? If he is, then what the hell is he doing?_

Claire decided to see for herself. She flipped the lighter open and lit it with a flick of her thumb. Light washed over the darkness, illuminating the figure. Instinctively, she drew back with a short gasp. It was the Hispanic man.

He blinked in the sudden light, but made no comment. Instead, he just finished unlocking the door, then beckoned to her with a jerk of his head. Claire didn't move from her spot, still trying to anticipate an attack of some sort. But instead of advancing on her or forcing her out, he simply shuffled away, then collapsed into the chair behind the desk heavily, breathing hard. He dug into his back pocket, procuring a small container, which he then held to his ear and shook.

"Perfect!" he snarled to himself, then pitched it across the room where it bounced hollowly. He looked wearily at Claire. "Go on, get out of here..."

She stood in the open cell door, still wondering if it was too good to be true. "Why? What happened?" Hardly an original question, but one that needed to be answered nevertheless.

He shut his eyes and leaned back. "We were attacked...don't know by who...Special forces, maybe...the fighting's been going on for a few hours. I think the worst is over, so...you might have a chance."

Claire crept closer, keeping the bright flame of the lighter in front of her. The light was just enough to make him out in the darkness. Now she saw the speckles of red on his white shirt.

_He doesn't seem that hurt, unless he's bleeding internally. If that's the case..._

She hated him; hated him for being Umbrella, and hated him for capturing her. They'd exchanged only several looks and words, but Claire knew that the feeling was mutual. But despite this, she couldn't direct those feelings towards a wounded man she didn't know.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked him. "Why didn't you save yourself?"

He chuckled weakly, still not opening his eyes. "Oh, I don't know..." He muttered something else to himself. Claire wasn't able to make it out. "...but don't worry about me. I'm not going anywhere."

His head tipped down, his chin resting against his chest.

"Hey..." Claire said, then swallowed hard. He didn't respond as she approached him, even when she placed a hand on his shoulder. His clothes were warm and damp with sweat. "Hey..."

Still no answer. She felt his neck, and was relieved to find a pulse. He wasn't dead...yet; just unconscious. Part of her ordered her to get the hell out, but the other part wanted to help her captor, by way of thanks for his help. She scooped up the capsule he'd discarded. Hemostatic medicine. Something to help coagulate blood wounds, apparently, and if he was bleeding out internally, he would need some of this.

_If I find some, I'll bring it to him. It's the least I can do for him._

Claire quickly left the cell area, pausing at the desk as she spied a knife glinting in the light on the surface. She took it, knowing very well she'd need to be armed. If only she could find a gun laying around somewhere. There was a clipboard with her name on it that caught her eye. At the bottom was another name. Rodrigo Juan Raval.

_Rodrigo_. She looked to the unconscious man. _So that's his name._

What little order that her life was in was now in shambles. Her first priority was to contact Wesker, and tell him she found Rockfort Island. She'd done what he'd asked her, and Sherry would be safe. But...she had no way of contacting him. Her cell phone was long gone, and had no idea if she could even get an outside line on the island.

_Okay, okay...so take it one step at a time. Deal with the first problem: get a call out and get rescue._

* * *

_Damn it, Cheryl, I was wrong..._

The virus carrier shambled closer, moaning in hunger for her flesh. Claire scrabbled back on her hands, slipping on the wet earth. All around her, rotting corpses were rising from shallow graves. She'd seen it all before; it was almost familiar to her now, but that didn't stop it from haunting her dreams in the past months, from almost making her wet her pants right there.

_...I _am_ cursed. I am so fucking cursed..._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Panting with both fatigue and terror, Claire slammed the door shut behind her. One of those things had grabbed her, actually _grabbed_ her. She was close enough to see the yellowing teeth coming to take a bite out of her neck. And the stench...it was the worse thing she would ever smell, she was sure of it. Almost overpowering.

_And the hands...oh God that feeling..._

...cold and wet, both from the pouring rain currently drenching her, and from its own liquefying skin. It felt dead, yet at the same time, strangely alive.

Claire gulped a lungful of cold air. The yard she was in was clear, save for some debris and a few small fires, and devoid of any shambling corpses. She had to make a run for it. She staggered away from the door, slipping slightly on the wet earth. The hell if she'd hang around with only a fucking knife to-

-a searchlight snapped on suddenly, blinding her with a brilliant white light. Claire shut her eyes and raised her hands, grunting in confusion as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Then she heard the gunfire and toppled over out of reflex. She squinted long enough to see a pattering line of bullet holes dancing towards her.

Desperately, she scrabbled back on her hands, trying to get around the corner of an overturned truck that sat near the door to the cemetery from where she just came. The gunfire came inches from clipping her left foot as she huddle behind the hood, her mind running a few seconds too slow to process everything at once. She didn't even realize that some_one_ was shooting at her.

Instead, she looked down, spying an item she had wanted since Paris: a gun. It lay a few inches from a motionless arm trapped beneath the truck. She snatched it up, her body almost automatically running through the routine.

_-clip release, mag's loaded, insert, rack it, make sure the safety's off-_

She was surprised at how smoothly her hands worked. Gone were the panicky hands that fumbled with the weapon in Raccoon City as the undead drew closer. Now they were experienced, ready to work at a moment's notice.

The gunfire paused suddenly, and Claire saw her chance. She leaned out from cover and looked into the spotlight, then aimed the gun and squeezed the trigger. Her first shot scored, putting out the blinding light permanently. Steadying the gun with her left hand cupped below it, she fired three more rounds into the tower where the light had sat. As soon as the first shot ricocheted off the concrete nest, a male voice yelled out, panicked.

"Ahhh! Wait! Don't shoot!"

Claire refined her aim. Now that the light was gone, she could see the watchtower clearly, sitting on the thick inner wall of the prison. Next to the shattered light was a mounted gun, and past that, two waving arms. She kept them in the sights of the gun, and her finger tight on the trigger, just in case the prick tried to shoot back.

"Who are you?" she called out in a commanding voice.

The frantic, waving arms slowed then ceased their surrender, and Claire could just make out a figure in the gloom and the after effect the spotlight had on her eyes. It paused, then waved to her again. "Wait right there! I'm coming down!"

The figure mantled the ledge, then shimmied down the wall. Claire flipped a mop of her rain soaked bangs off of her forehead, squinting as the figure came into the bad light. Most of the lights were out in the yard, save for the fires that burned around them. It was a young man, probably about the same age of her, perhaps a bit younger. He had a short mess of hair about the same auburn brown as hers. From the number she saw on the back of his jacket when he climbed down, she guessed he was a prisoner, or rather, a former prisoner of the trashed complex. The rest of the uniform was missing, replaced by a pair of worn camouflage fatigues and boots.

Claire leveled her gun at him, carefully watching his movements. He _did_ just try to kill her after all. That didn't automatically make them friends. One wrong move, and he was swiss cheese.

He walked up to her, scratching his head apologetically. "Sorry about that, you kind of snuck up on me." He reached up to brush her gun away. "I thought that-"

"Shut up!" Claire snapped and slapped his hand away with the gun, then took a step around him, leveling the weapon in his face with one hand. "Try anything funny, and I shoot."

The kid raised his hands and took a step back, now against the overturned truck. "Easy, gorgeous," he said in a voice that clearly indicated that he wasn't intimidated. "I said I was sorry. My name's Steve. I was one of the prisoners here. I'm guessing you are too?"

"Yeah," she said warily, gun unwavering.

Steve grinned. "Thought so. I bet you were just transferred, right? Unless Umbrella decided to doll up their female inmates."

_What the...is he checking me out_?

Claire saw Steve's eyes glance up and down her form. Despite the fact that they were standing in a cold downpour in the middle of a viral outbreak, she recognized _that _look. She'd never been considered "beautiful" by school standards, since she tended to be a bit of a tomboy, but Chris always said she was a pretty girl, and she had received the looks of a few interested guys.

"So," Steve continued, "What's your name?"

"Claire," she replied tightly, "Claire Redfield."

"Nice. I'll remember that."

Claire finally lowered her gun. She didn't think that he could be any threat to her. He just seemed like the average guy: dosed up on testosterone and a self proclaimed ladies man. In other words, a total idiot. Though, come to think of it, he wasn't all that bad looking. He vaguely looked like one of those pretty boy actors from some popular drama movie. She shook the irrelevant thoughts from her head.

"So, we should try and get out of here," Steve said. "The front gate is locked, and it needs some weird key to open it. I was thinking maybe we could-"

Claire shook her head. "No, there's something I have to do first." She turned and began walking, heading for the first door out of the yard.

"Hey!" Steve called, jogging after her. "Do you think it's a good idea to run off like that? What if more of those things show up?"

Great, the last thing she needed was him to follow her around and discover about Wesker and his organization. She needed to keep far away from Steve. It was uncharacteristically cold of her to just leave him on his own, but he didn't hesitate to try and blow her away, so why should a few virus carriers be a problem? It wasn't like she was just going to let him fend for himself. If she found a way out, she would let him know. But Sherry came first.

"None of your business," she said. "Besides, you'll only slow me down. Just get the hell out of here, and don't let these things bite you. You'll regret it later. Aim for the head."

With that last bit of advice, she pushed through the door and headed deeper into the prison complex.

* * *

_Damn it, I'm freezing. But at least I'm out of the rain._

Claire hugged her bare arms. The rain hadn't let up, but she finally found a building that wasn't destroyed or full of carriers. She was inside a small office building, close to what had to be the center of the prison. Behind her in the hall, the metal detector stood broken, several bullets through the controls. The hell if she was going to let it disarm her at a time like this.

Past the hall was a small room, filled with complex and expensive looking equipment which she ignored. Through another door she was greeted with a dim, quiet office, almost eerily so compared to what was happening outside. But she found what she was looking for: a working computer. She still didn't have a damn clue as to how to contact Wesker. The best she currently thought of was to raise a ruckus, then hope he would catch wind of it, as well as the location.

_Whatever, just make sure you can even use the thing. Don't jump to conclusions headfirst._

She set her gun down next to the keyboard. It took her some time to browse through everything on the computer until she found a messaging system. But then something else caught her eye. It was a list of files, organized by name. She saw "Redfield" among them. Out of curiosity, she opened it, expecting to find information about herself.

"Chris?" she murmured in surprise.

Sure enough, her brother was staring back at her with his matching blue eyes from a picture in the file. She skimmed the details, then cursed aloud. Umbrella was trying to find him. They even knew he was in Europe! The file was loaded with personal information, probably taken from his Air Force records, or his time in S.T.A.R.S.

She clenched her fist tightly. There was no way she was going to let Umbrella get to her brother. She had to warn him...but say what? "Hey bro, Umbrella's about to kill you. How do I know? Well, I was captured while trying to sneak into a lab in Paris, working for the very man who set you up and tried to kill you. That's right: Wesker! Oh, and there's been an outbreak here! Hugs, Claire."

_Okay, so I can't be _that_ direct._

Instead, she opened the message system and started typing. Not to him, but to Leon. They had set up a little system to keep in touch, in case something happened. If everything went over smoothly with the government, maybe he'd even have back up. She typed just enough to get her point across:

_Leon, I screwed up. Umbrella got to me. I'm okay for now, but there's been a spill at the place I'm being kept. It's Raccoon all over again. Don't worry about me, but FIND CHRIS. Umbrella is trying to locate him-_

The door behind her opened, making her jump. She turned around, finding Steve standing in the doorway. He looked equally as soaked as she did.

"Glad to see you're still okay," he said as he shut the door and joined her. "Getting whatever it is you're need to do?"

"Yeah," Claire said, then turned back to the computer.

Steve looked over her shoulder. "Chris Redfield? Is he family or something."

"Yeah," Claire said again, distracted. "My brother."

"Ah, siblings," Steve said without interest, then began to paw through various drawers. "Getting him to come and rescue us?"

Claire paused. Why hadn't she thought of that? It would get Chris out of Europe and ahead of Umbrella. "That's a good idea," she admitted, "But I don't even know where this place is."

Steve dropped a clipboard he had found next to the keyboard. "That's got the coordinates of this place. Tell him to bring the army."

Excited, Claire entered the numbers and added more to the email to Leon. More evidence against Umbrella! If Chris and the others could get their hands on this, Umbrella was _so _finished! "Thanks Steve! That's a great idea."

To her surprised, he laughed as she sent the mail. "Hey! I was only kidding. I don't think your brother can help us, wherever the hell he is."

Claire straightened from her hunch over the keyboard, a confused anger on her face. "What the hell are you talking about? You don't know him!"

Steve laughed again. "You're right, I don't." He replied, almost nastily, then slammed the filing cabinet he was searching. "But I know family, and they always let you down. I almost feel sorry for getting your hopes up, but then again, it's you're own fault for putting so much trust in someone like that."

Claire bristled. Who the _hell_ did he think he was?! He just dissed both her and Chris in the same breath, then barely acted like he did anything at all. Furious, she shoved him, hard, knocking him back into another cabinet with a bang.

"Fuck you, you little punk!" she yelled in his surprised face, her voice choked with anger. She snatched her gun off the desk and stormed out of the office, tears of anger lining her eyes.

Most of her feelings were aimed at Steve, but soon, she found herself feeling anger towards herself. She didn't see it right away, but it was blatantly obvious. Something had happened to Steve, family related. That was the only way someone could be so bitter towards something like that. And instead of talking about it, she decided to be a bitch and lash out at him.

She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. Screw it, screw it all hard. She just wanted out. She wanted out of this nightmare, she wanted Chris, and she wanted Sherry. But she was trapped on an island, Chris was far beyond her reach, his life in danger, and Sherry was being held by Wesker. And she just bitched out the only other living human she'd encountered.

_God, what the hell is wrong with me?_

Halfway back to the prison yard, Claire turned back and headed to the office. She wanted to set things right with Steve, but when she arrived, he was gone. Feeling even worse, she trudged back through the rain. The only thing that relieved her misery was a virus carrier that shambled across her path, which she gladly put down with a bullet to the head. But even that only helped a little; all she could feel was pity for the thing that used to be a living breathing human, even if they did work for Umbrella.

When she arrived back to the yard with a heavy heart, she was surprised to see that the large entrance gate was slightly ajar, instead of being sealed shut. She investigated closer, and saw the emblem of a hawk set into the door's latching mechanism. Was this the key that Steve had talked about? If it was, then that meant that he came through here, and she had a way out! The only thing left to do was to catch up to him, straighten the whole thing out, and escape.

About an hour later, she regretted being a bitch to Steve even more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"_Help me!!!_" shrieked a familiar voice. Wasn't it...?

"Steve?" Claire questioned in alarm. His voice sounded far away, yet was close enough that the panic in his voice was audible. Automatically, she turned on the heel of her foot and took off across the lobby, heart hammering with her own panic. The place had been so normal looking, so what could have happened?

_Maybe an infected carrier? Steve wouldn't have a problem with a few zombies, and I cleared this place already. Or maybe it was something worse..._

She hadn't found Steve after she left the prison. The path took her up a cliff, then to a pair of structures: a fancy looking palace, and larger military-looking complex. Since it was the smaller and less frightening of the two, Claire opted to search the palace first. Aside from a few wandering carriers and fancy decorations, the place was pretty uninteresting. She found more than a few locked doors, one peculiar one with a pair of gun imprints etched on a gold plate on the face of it. Other than that, she found an empty conference room, a media room, and a leaky bathroom. The scream pierced the silence just as she was leaving to search elsewhere.

As fast as she could, she ran back along the one hallway that was open to her. The dead carrier she shot on the way in was still slumped against the wall next to the conference room door, the clean hole in its temple still oozing thick blood. She saw a strip of red light flashing below the crack of the door to the media room. That certainly hadn't been there when she passed by about 20 minutes ago.

The door blew open from her weight crashing into it, Claire swept the room wildly with her gun, looking for Steve and whatever was attacking him. More red lights, like alarms, were flashing. But the room itself was still empty, just the way she had left it, except...

_What the hell?_

The media room had a large projection screen on the north wall. In her earlier scavenging, she pressed a switched, which caused a little movie to play. Claire couldn't say it would go into her favorites. It had been an ancient home movie, depicting a pair of children, which she guessed were twin brother and sisters. That wasn't unsettling in itself; it was actually kind of cute, and both children were beautiful. But it was what they were doing that made her stomach churn. The boy was plucking the wings off of a hapless dragonfly, then feeding the helpless insect to a hill of ants. Both children were obviously excited by this twisted play.

Now, that screen was raised, and behind it were a series of monitors and switches. Frantic movement drew her attention to one of the screens in the center. Steve was trapped in a small room with no doors or windows, beating on one of the walls. Around him, hidden in panels, were heating coils, glowing red hot.

_Oh God, he's being cooked alive!_

"Steve!" she cried at the monitor although she knew he couldn't hear her. She looked around, feeling overwhelmingly helpless. He didn't have a lot of time before the heat fried him, and she didn't have a clue as to what to do. Was he close, or was he halfway across the island?

Biting her lower lip, she gripped a fistful of her hair in frustration, still wet from the rain that only stopped minutes ago. There had to be some way, any way! There were buttons, but what happened if she pressed them? What if she just killed him faster? Oh well, no time to think about that; Steve was going to be dead anyway if she didn't try.

She pressed a button, and a small monitor lit up, depicting a grainy picture of a boat. Nothing happened. She pressed another, and an image of a knife popped up on another monitor. Still, nothing happened. Despair began to crush down on her. She wasn't going to be able to save him. On the screen, Steve had collapsed, but he still writhed in pain on the floor.

Unable to watch anymore, she looked away, then noticed the message on a panel next to the buttons.

_'When two pairs meet, my anger will subside.'_

"Oh, damn it!" she cried as it clicked into place. Two pairs. She scanned the rest of the dim screens and found the outlines of what they displayed. It was so easy, she should have kicked herself! Claire mashed the two buttons, and two separate screens depicting guns turned on. The flashing red lights ceased, and a display case next to the monitors rumbled and slowly slid away from the wall.

She gasped when Steve fell halfway into the room after being slumped against the cabinet, totally motionless. She quickly made her way over to him, hooked her arms around his then dragged him out from the death trap. Just from being near the door she felt the wave of heated air flowing out from the hidden room. It felt hotter then an oven, hotter than a bonfire up close. The very heat of it dried her eyes and skin.

She laid him on the floor, then fell to her knees next to him. He still hadn't responded to her touch or her moving him. At first, she froze, hands hovering over him, trembling. Then, she pressed her ear against his chest, trying to listen for a heartbeat, but all she heard in her ears was her own heart, yammering far to fast to be healthy. With shaky hands, she felt his throat, all the while running through the CPR process in her head. But it seemed she was spared the test of knowledge, because she felt a pulse in his neck. At the same time she confirmed it he let out a soft groan.

"Oh, Steve..." Claire said softly with a shaking voice, then began to gently pat his cheeks, trying to jar him back into consciousness. "Steve...Steve...wake up...c'mon..."

His face was red and warm under the tips of her fingers, like he'd gotten a bad sunburn. But she felt dampness, his sweat as his body began to cool itself. If it was doing that, then he was probably going to be okay. His eyes fluttered a bit, and he let out another low groan.

"That's it..." she coaxed, continuing her gently petting. "You're going to be fine..."

Steve's light blue eyes opened slowly and looked into her own sapphire blues. Claire broke out into a relieved smile. Contrary to how he might feel at the moment, she felt a very cold sweat break out all over her. Any longer in there and he'd be...

_Don't think about it...he'll be fine now...just fine._

"Uhhhh..."he moaned. "What happened?"

"I heard you scream, and I found you trapped in there," Claire replied, nodding in the direction of the hidden room. "I'm sorry I took so long, I was...I...I'm just glad you're alive," she finished.

Steve began to sit up, much to Claire's objection, but he assured her that he was fine, just a little hot and weak. After sitting for a minute, she helped him shakily get to his feet. They stood in silence for a few awkward seconds.

"Steve, I..." Claire began, then paused. "I wanted to say I'm sorry about before, and what I said to you. It's just that...me and Chris are close, and...I lost my temper. It's not your fault, and...well, I'm sorry for being a bitch and shoving you like that."

"Don't worry about," Steve said wearily. It sounded like he meant it, but he avoided her eyes. "Thanks for saving me." His tone brightened. "Hey, check this out!" He walked to the entrance of the hidden room, then picked something up off the floor. It was a pair of guns, two beautiful Lugers that were plated in shining gold. He posed them for her.

"Hey..." Claire said slowly, "I think those might unlock a door upstairs. I saw a indentation where those fit."

Steve chuckled. "Sorry, but I burned my butt to get these, and I'm keeping 'em."

"Come on, Steve," sighed Claire. "They're just guns. We need to find a way to get off this island. What if it's behind that door?"

"Alright," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I'll keep them until I find something better. Let me know if you find something fully automatic, like a machine gun or something."

Claire opened her mouth to argue further, but then stopped. He had almost died, and she didn't want to get into an argument with him now. There had to be more weapons laying around, so it would just be a matter of time until she found one that he liked.

"Fine," she agreed. "Most of the other doors are locked here. I was thinking about checking the other place back there."

Steve nodded. "I think there might be a dock or something nearby. If there's a boat, our problems are solved. Why not come with me?"

"Not yet," Claire replied, trying to keep the hesitation out of her voice. There was still the matter of getting hold of Wesker, not mention the medicine she wanted to get for Rodrigo back at the prison. "Just let me have a quick look around. Meet you there, okay?"

Steve shook his head, as if she was being difficult. "Okay," he said. "See you soon. Just watch yourself."

He took off at a jog while Claire tentatively looked inside the secret room for anything useful, like ammo. She didn't stick around though, not wanting to get caught like Steve did. There wasn't much, other than some pricey art pieces, so she left the media room.

As she crossed the open foyer of the palace lobby, a red speck caught her eye, traveling in a shaky path across the tiled floor. It looked like a laser pointer, like they used in school during lecture, or a-

_-gunsight!_

Claire gasped as the speck suddenly shot up her body, then focused on her forehead. As it flashed across her eyes, she saw the figure with the rifle on the staircase. Instead of thinking, she just acted, diving out of the way as a loud shot rebounded off the walls and a bullet smashed the tile where she had been standing. She hit the ground in a roll, then scampered behind one of the columns that lined the far wall just as another shot clipped the ground near her.

"Redfied!" screeched a high male voice. "How _dare_ you interfere with my plans?!"

"Wha...what?" she called back, stilling trying to grasp the situation.

"Don't play coy with me, you filthy little rat," the voice snarled back. "I know what you're doing here. You let yourself be captured so you could discover the location of my base!"

_His base. Then..._

"So you're the guy in charge of this shit hole?" she taunted as she quietly reached to the small of her back where her gun was tucked into her belt.

"How dare you?!" he screeched again at her remark. Claire heard a resounding _bang_, and the crack of wood. "Do you know who I am? I am Alfred Ashford, head of the Ashford family and commander of this base."

_Alfred Ashford. Just like Wesker said. Didn't think I'd actually get to meet the guy._

Very carefully, Claire looked around the bend of the column and saw him standing on the staircase. He was a young man, probably no more than a few years older than her, which would put him in the early twenties. He wore a formal military dress uniform, bright red and trimmed in gold. He had a head of bright blond hair, combed neatly back. In gloved hands he held a rifle, the laser sight mounted just below the scope. At Claire's presence, he raised the gun to his shoulder, but she quickly sank behind the column again, lifting her weapon to her chest.

"Now tell me, little rat, who are you working for? Which organization has sent its spies to infiltrate this place?"

He was so paranoid that he was actually right. It _was _exactly why Claire was there.

"Spies?" she asked, trying her very best to sounded incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about? I was taken here against my will!"

It wasn't likely that Alfred would be persuaded by her ignorance. That left her with fighting back, and pistol versus rifle did not bode well for her. She'd have to distract him, then make a run for it. The front door to the palace was relatively close, easily within a short sprint. Whether he could snipe her before she made it was the question. It wasn't likely that Steve was going to be back and save her, either

Alfred laughed, a sinister sound. "Still playing dumb? How very foolish of you. You can't trick me. Hours after you, a seemingly _innocent_ person, were transferred here, my base was completely eradicated! The labs were breached, and the experimental T-virus was released. And here you lie to me about who you really are!"

"I told you, I'm not a spy!" Claire cried back. "I didn't have anything to do with this attack!"

"Un-accept-able!" Alfred spat. His high voice changed slightly, and it was in that moment that Claire realized it. The tremor in his voice, the way it cracked even higher.

_This guy's a fucking nut._

Alfred paused, possibly composing himself from his sudden rage. "Tell me who you are working for," he purred in a much saner tone. "It's Spencer, isn't it? I thought that Umbrella might move in and try to take her...I should have seen it coming all these years, especially after Marcus. But Spencer miscalculated when he thought I wouldn't suspect a simple girl!"

"I'm not from Umbrella!" Claire retorted. This time it was the truth. "I'm not here to take or steal...whatever it is you think I'm here to steal!"

"Surrender now," Alfred said, then added thoughtfully, "Perhaps I'll let you live. After all, you have information about your employers, and I'll require that."

Claire drew a deep breath. Now or never. The longer she waited, the greater the chance he'd get a shot on her. "Okay, I'm coming out. But I-"

-she leaned out and pulled the trigger of her gun several times, all the while jolting forward into a run. The rifle fired again, but she didn't even see where the shot landed. What she felt was a spot of white hot on her arm, like a fiery pinch. Later, she realized it was just the tiniest of grazes. Alfred snarled on the banister behind her as he loaded another shell, which was the last noise she heard as she plowed through the doors and out into the cold night.

* * *

Alfred stood seething on the staircase to the second floor of the palace, teeth bared in rage. The door in which the little whore escaped swung lazily back on its hinges. He thought about chasing after her, but there would be no point. By the time he would make his way down there, she would no doubt be out of the courtyard.

_Filthy, vile, disgusting rat!_

His hand tightened on the grip of his bolt action to the point of pain, his breaths coming out in long hisses through his clenched jaw. How dare Spencer, or anyone else for that matter, make such a bold move against him? Had his status in Umbrella fallen so low?

_No! Spencer only targets those that threaten him. Well...he is right to be threatened by her...only why has he come now? Perhaps one of the rivals then...Yes, that seems most likely._

Her clenched his other hand along the forearm of his rifle, the fabric of his gloves squeaking loudly at the polished wood. How good it would have felt to kill her with it! To take away those seducing, deceitful looks in an instant...No! Better yet! To wound her, then watch her try to save her pathetic life, to plead for mercy...then, he would do the deed.

Furious at being denied his trophy, Alfred stormed back to the secretary's office, pausing a moment to slam the butt of his gun into the already crumpled banister. It broke away completely, and he could honestly say he felt better.

_She must be heading to the training facility. What better place to steal more secrets?_

A smile crossed his lips. He had access and control to the entire building, and with the hidden passage from his residence, he could beat Redfield there. Just enough time to lie in wait, or perhaps construct something more elaborate? Several of the B.O.W's had escaped, and what better way to teach the girl terror than to have her face a nightmare maze of his construction?

Instantly, his rage vanished, replaced by confidence. Alexia would be so proud when he told her the news that he warded off the attackers. Their island was in ruins, but that was a small price to pay when Alexia herself was priceless. Already, he had an idea as to what to do. He could inform Alexia on the way through his residence with plenty of time to bask in her beauty, then get to the facility and prepare Redfield's death.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you Andrea Tyler for beta reading!

* * *

**

**Chapter 10**

Claire was tired of it all. She'd ran Alfred's little playground, nearly dying in the process several times, whether it was from his rifle, or from the creatures he sicced on her. Now, B.O.W's were loose all over the complex, and unlike the shuffling carriers, they didn't go down so easy.

Steve had returned her earlier rescue, blowing away one of the orange creatures before it had time to crush her skull. But even that relief was short lived as she witnessed him shoot his own father, a T-virus infected mutant that almost succeeded in turning her into a buffet. A giant _worm_ in the courtyard of the training facility nearly swallowed her whole, and the grenade launcher she picked up had run out of ammo.

After the horrible incident with his father, Steve was devastated. Although it felt like a bad idea, she tactfully decided to leave him alone for a while to collect himself. In the meantime, she decided to have another around. There was a perfectly functional plane in the underground airport, but as luck would have it, they needed three keys to operate the elevator that led them to it. Now they had a scavenger hunt to contend with.

Then, of course, everything got a lot worse.

"I see my faith in you was well placed, Miss Redfield..." said an all too familiar voice.

Claire whirled from the palace door and saw Wesker casually leaning against the stone railing in the courtyard. It took every ounce of self control to not pull her gun out and start firing until the clip was dry, instead choosing to glare quietly at him. He had dropped his casual attire from when she first saw him; he now donned the tactical vest and fatigues of a soldier, all in black of course. He didn't appear to be armed with a gun or any other weapon, but she knew better than to lower her guard.

"You..." she said, the word soaked with loathing and hate. "So, it _was_ you who attacked this place."

"Of course," Wesker replied lightly, standing upright and strolling forward. "You have my thanks for helping me finally locate Rockfort. For such a young woman, you show remarkable talent for survival. It's a pity we hadn't met under more suitable circumstances."

"Piss off," Claire snarled back. "I don't like being used as bait."

Wesker chucked. "I apologize for not revealing my true intention of sending you to Paris, but Umbrella needed to be convinced of your passion to find Chris, as opposed to you being my spy. We wouldn't want them to think it was to easy to catch you. Now tell me of what you've found out about the island."

Claire glared at him, feeling an overcoming urge to spit, but instead, settled for pursing her lips. "Not a whole lot. This place is Raccoon all over again. You probably already know that, though. BOW's and zombies up to your ass. Alfred's running around with a loaded gun, too." Her eyes narrowed at him. "Why are you asking me? Don't you already have this place locked down? And just what the hell are you looking for?"

"My men are currently putting down the last pockets of Umbrella resistance. I haven't had time to send a proper search party yet, but it seems you've made your way around. And don't worry about what I'm searching for; it doesn't concern you."

A soft electronic beep chimed. Wesker gave a tiny jerk, then stuck a finger to his ear. Claire noticed the wire that ran from a bud in his ear to most likely a radio. "Hm, what?" he said, then casually turned from her and began to pace. "From where?...Was there a response?... Very well. What about the containment doors?...Stay there, I'm coming."

Wesker dropped his hand and turned to Claire, smiling once again. "I need you to do something for me again, dear heart. There are a set of doors we need to get by, and we are having trouble locating the key."

"So?" Claire asked. "Why not just blow it open?"

"Because," Wesker said patiently, "That area is a sealed is a section of the island's labs. I'd rather not take a risk and release something else into the air, something that might not be healthy for _anyone_ to breathe. I need you to run back to the prison. We have reason to believe the key was last located there."

Claire gaped at him in surprise. "The prison!? Are you kidding me? That place is infested with these things!"

"All the more reason you should be quick about it," Wesker stated dismissively before continuing. "It's a key card, silver in color. The place to start looking would be the infirmary, as the anatomist and Ashford seemed to have a trust of sorts..."

Furiously, she shook her head. That was it. She was sick and tired of being blackmailed by him.

"No."

Wesker laughed and tilted his head mockingly. "No?"

"I did what you want, I found this damn island for you!" she said, her voice rising in anger. "Now let Sherry go!"

"Miss Redfield, as I said before, you shouldn't concern yourself with Miss Birkin. Besides, that wasn't part of our arrangement."

No longer acting on reason, only anger, fueled by the anguish of her separation from Sherry, Claire abandoned what little calmness held her together, ripped her handgun out of the back of her jeans and leveled it at Wesker. "You bastard, _let her go!_" she screamed.

Her last word echoed faintly back in the courtyard. She heard that distinct pounding in her head, whenever her heart beat fast enough to shove her blood through her body. It felt as if the organ took up most of her chest. The small, logical part of her was drowned out by images projecting her wild desire to indulge in her bloodlust and hatred toward this man. Was she insane?

Wesker's expression shifted to unreadable neutrality, his sunglasses blocking any possible change in his features she might have seen. Slowly, he began to move toward her, his stance predatory. Claire wanted to tell him to stay put, to not come closer, but she couldn't find her voice. When he closed the distance between them by half, she wanted to pull the trigger, but conflicting emotions prevented her, the bloolust receding, and the logical part of her clawing back into existence. She would like nothing less to scrub his evil off the face of the planet, but then there was Sherry...there was always Sherry...What would happen if she killed Wesker?

He was up the steps, almost right in front of her. Claire let out a quivering breath and took a shaky step back. Wesker was moving faster now, now that he sensed his prey becoming agitated. His steps became brisker, until he was close enough to touch her. He did.

With a simple swiping motion, he gripped the frame of her gun and pulled, jerking it from her comparatively weak grip, then reached forward with his other hand, snatching her painfully by the jaw. Claire grunted. His hand was like iron, pressing the sides of her jaw with such force that she couldn't open her mouth. Instead, all she could do was hiss as a stream of spittle shot from between her teeth when Wesker slammed her into the palace door. Spots danced in her eyes as her head smacked against the wood.

"I grow tired of these little outbursts, Claire," Wesker said menacingly. "I put up with more than enough of _that _from your precious brother in S.T.A.R.S. I most certainly do _not_ have time for them now. Your life is a luxury to me, one that I think I can do without."

His thumb was now pressing so hard that she feared she might lose a lower molar, simply squeezed and popped out of her jaw. But all she could do once again was desperately scrabble at the black leather of his gloves. Wesker appeared almost to not notice.

"You didn't happen to send a message while you were running about, did you? My men reported an unusual transmission from the prison, long after the attack. From what they've been able to ascertain, it wasn't Umbrella..."

Even if she wanted to reply, she couldn't. But the fearful widening of her eyes was all Wesker needed to see. His hand left her jaw, the pain mercifully vanishing, but before Claire could recover herself, he drew back his hand and struck her across the face.

The blow felt like it liquefied her brain, and all thoughts left her, save for pain. The force of it sent her tumbling down the steps of the palace entrance, where she slumped in a tangled heap. She let out a low moan, shifting to the side as everything around her blurred, only to become sharp before fading again.

Something hard poked in between her ribs, then shoved, pushing her to her back. Wesker's blond head swam before her, his glasses two dots of black. His foot came down, heavy treads pressing painfully into her shoulder. Claire let out another strangled cry as the assault continued, feebly trying to push his weight off with the arm that wasn't pinned.

"I sincerely hope you weren't stupid enough to contact your brother, dear heart. I told you that I didn't need your help in bringing about his end. But if you are so anxious for him to die, I suppose I will have to rearrange my plans."

_No, not Chris! God, why was I so stupid?!_

"And what of Sherry?" Wesker continued. In her inflamed shoulder, through his boot, she could feel his foot gently rock back and forth, agonizingly massaging more pain into her shoulder. "Such a young girl, such brilliant potential, all ended with the a simple call..." He pressed his finger to his ear.

"No..." Claire croaked desperately. She reached up and grabbed a fistful of the stiff black material that was the cuff of his pants. "_Please, _don't hurt her! I'll do it...I'll do it..."

Slowly, Wesker lowered his hand, his sight once again trained hard on her face. "I shall extend my forgiveness to you once more, Claire. However, I promise you, this shall be the last." He stepped off her shoulder and Claire clutched it with a hot gasp. "You have your assignment. I suggest you do it."

He casually walked off in the direction of the submersible that led to the airport. Instead of turning towards the stairs, however, he simply strode towards the wall. When he neared it, he gave a few quick steps, then leaped easily over the 12 feet of it with height to spare and disappeared. Claire could only watch in amazement from her beaten state.

_Just what the hell is he?_

Claire rolled over, trying to hold both her shoulder and head. He had only truly hit her once, but her entire body was in agony from the resulting tumble. Her head was far past the migraine status, and vision in her right eye was still blurry with halos around the lights. Her shoulder felt like it had been popped in then out of her socket several times, burning with a fire that spread down her entire arm. She realized that she didn't have the strength to get up without her hands, so she opted to release her shoulder.

_My life is a luxury...the trigger to the gun on Sherry's head...Why is this happening?_

Even worse than her physical wounds was how she felt inside. She wasn't a person, she was a thing. A cog in a machine. A small part in a much larger collection of integrated machinery; used to get something else done, and easily replaced if she were to 'break'. And if she didn't do her job, if she failed to function as the cog in this particular machine, she would be discarded, and a child would die.

It was almost enough to bring her to tears. For a moment, she could only stay on her hands and knees, half wishing something would come around and give her the painful death she, at that point, deserved. But that would be taking the coward's way out. Chris wasn't a coward; _she_ wasn't a coward.

_So I'm a luxury, huh? I'll show you what this "luxury" can do you son of a bitch._

Claire grimaced, then pushed herself to her feet, still holding her temple. It hurt to move, but she started walking, first grabbing her gun from where Wesker dropped it, then reoriented herself and started heading to the prison. Her shoulder flamed and her head throbbed, but Claire pushed it all aside, replacing it with the hate for Wesker and the comfort that one way or another, at the end of all this, he was going to die.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Claire Redfield, don't move..."

Claire froze in her tracks at the door as the woman's pristine, refined voice hit her ears. Slowly she looked behind her and saw her standing at the other side of the bedroom, seemingly having appeared out of thin air. Her attire matched the gloomy, yet elegant setting; a long purple gown, not out of place at an opera save for the fact she held a rifle in her long, white opera gloved hands.

_It's that woman, the one Alfred was talking to! His sister! What was her name, Alexis, Alexandra...?_

"I am Alexia Ashford," she proclaimed, correcting Claire's thoughts. She smiled coldly from ear to ear. "At last I meet the rat that gave my dear brother so much problems. A pity that you aren't quite what I expected. And it is also a pity that we must part so soon." She raised the rifle in her hands, zeroing in on Claire's chest.

Claire's eyes went wide. "W-wait!" she stammered as she took a step back. Her gun was out of ammo, and save for a knife in its sheath, she was defenseless. "Can't we talk about this? _Please!_"

"For the pride of the Ashford family, I will kill you!" With that, Alexia fired.

Instinct kicked in, and as the word "you" fell from Alexia's sculpted lips, Claire dove to the side. The gunshot in such a tiny room made her ears ring afterward, but the bullet luckily missed, tearing through the door instead of her heart.

Alexia racked the bolt back on the rifle, ejecting the smoking shell and chambering another, still smiling confidently. Claire scooted back on her butt, bumping into the vanity in the corner of the room. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. She felt just like a cornered-

_-rat-_

"Wait!" she cried again as Alexia aimed the weapon once more.

_Bang._

It wasn't a gunshot. The door to the room broke open, smashed by a muddy boot. "Claire, what's going on?" shouted voice. It was Steve!

Alexia's face dropped, turning very ugly, and she swiveled in a sea of purple, then fired at Steve, but did so in haste. He yelped and half fell, half jumped back, raising one arm haphazardly and fired a wild volley from his submachine gun. Alexia screeched over the last few chatters of bullets and fell back, clutching her shoulder.

"Steve!" Claire cried, rushing to his cradled form, but then heard the sound of shifting stone. She looked back at the blond gunwoman, but she had vanished, not before Claire noticed the stone mural in the wall shift. "A secret door?"

Steve growled and got to his feet. "C'mon, after her!" He started forward, but was stopped by Claire grabbing his shoulders.

"Hold on a sec, you're hurt," she said. In the adrenaline rush, she didn't care that her voice sounded overly worried. "Let me see."

He shrugged her off. "Don't worry, she just clipped my arm. I'm fine."

Claire looked in his face for that overly male bravado that would end up getting him hurt further, but there was nothing there. He was grimacing slightly, but his eyes were strong and determined. She reluctantly nodded. "Okay, just be careful, I'm out of ammo so I can't back you up."

"Got it."

Steve took point, his dual submachine guns up and ready as he stuck his boot against the stone mural and shoved. Just like in movies, it swiveled, revealing a small doorway into the adjoining bedroom. He jumped in poised to attack with Claire sticking close behind him. Alexia was nowhere to be seen.

After he cleared the small room, Steve dropped to his knees and looked under the fourposter bed. Then Claire saw it: dark purple crumpled on the sheets of the bed. It was Alexia's dress, splattered with several drops of blood. Confused, she looked around, then saw the splash of golden blond on top of the large, ornamental music box. It looked like a wig.

"What is-"

-a wounded, enraged shriek cut Claire's question off. Something jumped from the bed's canopy, gunning straight for her. There was a flash of movement as Steve jumped to intercept it, colliding with the frenzied form and knocking it away. The thing turned out to be none other than Alfred Ashford.

The two fought viciously for a second, Alfred using his rifle as a bludgeon, but Steve got the upper hand and kicked him back into the wall. Alfred's features were twisted in fury, but they soon melted to fear as Steve held him at gunpoint, looking very pissed. Up close, his submachine guns where at the advantage, where as Alfred's rifle was not.

At first, Claire thought she was seeing things, that her mind was making things up in the insanity of the scuffle, but she stepped closer and confirmed it. Alfred's crimson jacket was hanging open, as if he had just hastily thrown it on. His neat blond hair was askew and messed. On his face were several familiar markings she only recognized because she herself was a girl.

_Is that blush...and lip gloss...and _eyeliner_?_

Claire's mouth dropped open in a mix of horror and bewilderment as Alfred shakily climbed to his feet. He caught sight of himself in the mirror at the desk in the room and raised his hand to his face, his own features turning to match Claire's shock. He let out another primal scream, causing Claire to jump in surprise, then fled the room. Just like that, he was gone.

Steve looked just as confused, standing there with his guns still raised. "What the hell was that?"

"I think..." Claire began slowly, then paused, making sure that what she was going to say even made half-sense, "I think...he was pretending to be his sister, Alexia."

"You mean he's a sociopath with a split personality?"

Claire nodded. "I guess. So then, there probably never was an Alexia. He just made her up!"

Steve looked disgusted. "Okay, can we _please_ just get out of here? Tell me you found those keys."

"Got 'em right here," she assured him, patting her back pocket where the three small hexagons sat. She hesitated; she couldn't just up and leave, not without Wesker discovering her absence. But how was she going to get Steve to escape? It was pretty clear that he wasn't going to leave without her.

But luckily for her, her hesitation was interrupted by a cool female voice over an unseen intercom.

"_The self-destruct sequence has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately._"

"_What?_" Steve yelled. "That asshole's going to blow us up with the rest of the island! C'mon, let's go!"

"Right!" Claire agreed.

_Screw Wesker. I'm not sticking around anymore. I hope he burns with the rest of the island._

They took off, leaving the creepy Ashford residence. The hundreds of dolls scattered about the place silently bid them farewell as they escaped. At least the explosion would destroy all of the horrid little things. As a child, Claire hated dolls, which is why she tended to gravitate towards things like toy cars as a kid, thus earning her label as a tomboy.

"_The self-destruct sequence has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately._"

Sirens blared along each path they took, lights flashed bright red in every corridor of the palace. Claire didn't think the island could get any more chaotic, but it just did. At least the path to the airport was clear, since she and Steve gunned down any zombie or B.O.W on their way to the residence.

The two of them took the submersible to the underwater airport entrance, and upon arriving at the lift to the docked cargo plane, they placed the three hexagon proofs in their slots. It was a wacky little contraption, but once all three stone plates were in place, the lift took them down to the outer hatch of the plane which they quickly opened.

"Can you fly it?" Claire asked anxiously from behind the pilot's chair once Steve dropped himself into it. It would suck so bad if they made it all this way only to find out he wasn't experience enough to fly it. The plane was one of those big, bulky sea planes. Not exactly something he spent his time flying as a hobby.

Steve fiddled with a few switches before answering slowly. "Yeah, I think so. But we have a problem." He pointed through the windshield. "We can't takeoff until that bridge is raised. We're trapped!"

Claire looked through the window and saw the bridge controls from her earlier exploration on the second level. She could go and do it with no problem, but if the bridge was raised, she couldn't make it back to the plane. She would have to double around, and that was assuming there was a way out from back there...

_And assume makes an ass out of 'u' and me. That's going to get us both killed._

"Get everything ready, I'll go see what I can do about the bridge," she told him. "And Steve..." she added before trailing off. "...this is going to be close. Promise me that you won't go up in smoke if I don't make it back." She pawed around the cabin until she found what she was looking for in a small drawer: ammo.

Steve looked shocked. "Claire-"

"Steve, just don't argue with me. I'm not going to get us both killed because I'm too slow or I get trapped. Just promise. You can wait as long as you have to, just don't endanger yourself. Please. I don't want the last thing I think about is that you're going to die too."

It was one hell of a request, and Claire could see him struggling with it. But in the end, he closed his eyes and nodded. "Okay, I promise."

"Thank you, Steve. Don't worry, I'll make it back."

She felt like she should say good-bye, just in case, but it was too depressing of a thought. Claire left the plane and took off running, crossing the very bridge that was impeding their escape and entering the metal shutter on the other end. There was only one shuffling zombie in the warehouse that slowly advanced on her. She didn't even have to waste what precious little ammunition she had on it, instead, she just darted past its clutching hands.

There was a small platform lift that took her to a balcony on the second level of the warehouse, which led to the controls for the bridge. She pulled the lever and said a prayer, hoping that a malfunction wouldn't end up killing them both. Oh, wouldn't that be grand...but the bridge raised slowly with a hiss of hydraulics, leaving the opening clear for the sea plane to pass.

_Okay, Steve's got a way out. Now you._

Claire retraced her steps into the warehouse to a shutter in the back she discovered earlier. Back then, it was locked, but just as she was hoping, the self destruct had released it. It led to an elevator which ran to the surface. Her hopes began to soar. Maybe she could make it back to the plane after all.

"_The self-destruct sequence has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately._"

"Oh, shut up already!"

The elevator stopped in the courtyard of the training facility. The giant worm which nearly devoured her earlier was nowhere to be seen. Thankful that she was free of that distraction, Claire booked it across the muddy courtyard and slammed through the rusted door that stood next to the gate. The path eventually narrowed out to a thin walkway along the cliff, before turning into the palace courtyard.

_Just have to keep moving. I can make it._

In the next instant, something behind her exploded. Claire was lifted off her feet and thrown hard into the ground. Her vision swam, ears ringing loudly as the world drifted away for a second when she hit her head on the ground. Behind her, a small sea of fire burned, blocking the path behind her in the inferno.

_BAM._

Ahead of her, along the wall that connected to the training facility, a large metal gate that had been boarded up was simply blown away, but not by another explosion. Instead, it was a large, meaty fist covered with bony spikes. The blood in Claire's face vanished as the owner stepped into view.

The thing had to be 8 or 9 feet tall. Whatever it was used to be human, only now transformed into one of Umbrella's killing machines. Its skin was ash gray, the same color as the carriers, only it was intact and muscular. Parts of it were coated by thick, calloused armor. Neither arms had hands, only the ball shaped masses studded with spikes. It turned its thick, meaty head towards her, pale white eyes locking onto her frozen form and began to slowly march forward with the intent to kill.

_Oh God, it's just like in Raccoon, just like Mr. X._

Claire tried to unfreeze with great difficulty. The way behind her was blocked, and there was no way she could run past it; it was slow, but up close, she wouldn't have a chance. She pulled her gun from the back of her jeans, miraculously still in place after her small flight through the air. It wouldn't be enough. She needed a rocket launcher, or a tank, or a nuke, preferably.

"_Five minutes until detonation. __The self-destruct sequence has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately._"

_Gotta at least try!_

She got to her feet and raised the handgun, all the while trying to clear her head after the explosion. She sighted Mr. X's bigger, nastier brother's head and squeezed off a round, but missed. She fired again, and this time hit, a coagulated hole ripping into its cheek and exposing the still humanly teeth.

Claire fired again and again. Another hole in the head. Another miss. One buried harmlessly into its shoulder. Smack dab in the forehead. It didn't stop that slow, cold march towards her. As if being repelled by it, Claire took a shaky step back, closer to the bath of fire behind her. In another thirty seconds, it would be upon her, then...

-_I'm dead-_

Her gun fired again and again, but her bullets didn't do anything to stop the monster. Then, she heard the most frightening sound yet: a hollow, dry click over the crackle of the fire and the blare of the alarm. Claire let out a sound of defeated frustration and tried again, but was only rewarded with another click. The creature showed no sign of victory, let alone any other emotion.

Claire realized that there was no escape, unless she wanted to jump into a fire, or off the left railing and into the rocks and sea below, neither of which sounded appealing. So it looked like one way or another, she was going to get a very painful death by monster, fire, or height. The creature had already halved the distance between them and was still advancing.

The fire behind her rippled, and Claire felt something brush by her quickly. A blur rushed in front of her and gunned straight for the creature. Then she heard the impact. It sounded like a truck crashing into a pile of dirt; low and deep. The creature stumbled and simply fell back.

_Wesker?_

Sure enough, the blond man was before her, coming out of the crushing elbow that felled the massive creature. He had been so fast...Claire hadn't even been able to make his outline out in the flicker of fire. She_ felt _the blur rather than actually saw it. No human could move that fast...

The creature was already beginning to sit up. Before it could rise to its feet once again, Wesker drew back his hand and delivered a vicious uppercut to its face, smacking it back down prone. In a single movement, he was beside it, lifting his boot up. Claire looked away just as he brought it down, but was unable to block out the sickening crunch in her ears. When she looked back, the creature wasn't moving and Wesker was scuffing his boot on the dirt.

"Wesker, what...?" Claire croaked, not even sure where to start. "What the hell?"

_Just what the hell are you? Those eyes, that speed._

"It appeared that you were in need of assistance, Miss Redfield, so I dashed to your rescue right away," Wesker mused as he strolled to her, fixing his glasses. "What kind of employer would I be if I didn't protect my agents?" He raised an eyebrow at her as she scowled. "No thanks to the man who just saved your life? Where are your manners?"

"Yeah, well, thanks." Claire muttered, avoiding his gaze before looking back. "In case you don't know, this whole place is about to blow, so if you'll excuse me..."

It was stupid to even try, but Claire moved to brush past him. She still jumped when he suddenly grabbed her wrist, halting her progress.

"Once again, you underestimate just how much I know, Claire," Wesker said dryly. "If you're worried about your friend Steve, I'm sure he'll make it off the island just fine by himself. I would prefer that you would accompany me somewhere else instead."

"Fuck you!" Claire snarled as she tried to pull away from his grip. She may as well have been chained to him. "I've had enough of this. I did what you asked! Let me go!"

"Claire," Wesker began, as if speaking to a troublesome child. "I would suggest that you calm yourself. The more you fight, the slower we move, and I assure you, the longer we stay here, the worse it is for our health. Of course, there's always the hard way..."

Claire's hysteria rose once again. Umbrella's killing machine nearly made her crap herself, death was still impending, and now, any thought of finally escaping Rockfort and Wesker were now dashed. She couldn't take it anymore. The Redfield fury boiled up, and she let out a mangled scream mixed with a roar, then drew back her fist, knowing full well it couldn't do anything, knowing full well she didn't even care.

She felt the impact on the back of her head, but there was no pain that went with it, only an enveloping blackness that swallowed her whole.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_Claire cut the engine to her motorcycle, the shoved the kickstand out with the toe of her boot. A pair of cops crossing the parking lot waved and smiled at her. She waved back, then got off her bike, letting it rest against the kickstand._

_She unzipped her leather jacket and took off her helmet, shaking her ponytail free. It was getting a little stuffy. It was just past 3 o'clock, he said he'd be ready for her._

_"Claire!"_

_She turned and saw Chris just coming out of the RPD, right on time. He always looked so cool in his uniform._

_Before she knew it, she was running, and she leaped into his arms, wrapping her own tightly around his neck, laughing._

_"Chris! I missed you so much!"_

_He chuckled back, squeezing her just as tightly. "I know, you always do." They broke apart just slightly. "I guess calls don't cut it anymore."_

_Claire shook her head. "Not even close. I wish I could come down and live in Raccoon."_

_Chris patted her firmly on the shoulder. "Not until you're out of college. You're not going anywhere until you earn a degree."_

_"Yeah, you're right," Claire admitted reluctantly. "It's just torture, that's all, you being a six hour ride away."_

_Chris grinned, then snagged her around the waist, making her squeal playfully as he guided her to the RPD. "Good, then that's doing my job of brotherly torture. C'mon, let's eat. I'm starving."

* * *

_It was cold, cold enough to make her shiver and her skin raise in bumps. The dream faded in Claire's mind. As it did, she realized just how long it had been since she last saw Chris. It had been about 2 months since her last visit when she decided to make the trip to Raccoon City. Then, it had been another 3 months between that horrific disaster and when she was abducted. Almost half a year without Chris....it made her want to cry.

Still cold. Claire rolled over, then felt the dull thumping in her head and groaned. It all came back to her. The self destruct sequence, the creature, and Wesker, and-

"-Steve!" she exclaimed, bolting upright.

"Pace yourself, Miss Redfield. You've suffered a nasty head trauma."

She was sitting on a small fold out cot in a tubular metal cockpit. It was very similar to the hollow skeleton of the sea plane that Steve hopefully flew out in before the island exploded. Wesker was sitting in the cockpit chair, consulting a file. As far as she could tell, they weren't moving.

Her head pounded all the more as the blood rushed from it. Claire gingerly rubbed the back of her skull, where a sore spot had developed just at the base of her ponytail.

"Ow," she muttered, then scowled at the back of Wesker's blond head. "Did you really have to hit me?"

"There were other ways of subduing you," Wesker said mildly as he turned a page. "But given our situation, I felt that speed was more necessary than comfort."

Her glare turned darker, gut wrenching in pain from something else. Steve...Claire prayed with all her heart that he hadn't been stupid and just left without her when she didn't show up. If he hadn't, she would never forgive herself, never forgive Wesker. The thought of losing Steve like that made a quiver of noise escape her lips, and she sniffed.

"Cheer up, Miss Redfield," Wesker drolled, "Don't concern yourself with Mr. Burnside. There are bigger matters at hand."

"Don't talk about him like that! And I'm _not_ crying!" Claire said loudly as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm just...cold. Where the hell are we anyway?"

Wesker swiveled in the chair, finally turning to face her. "At an Umbrella research facility several miles off the coast of Antarctica."

She gaped at him. "_Antarctica?_ What the hell are we doing here?"

"What I was looking for was not at Rockfort like I intentionally thought. But I was correcting in thinking that Alfred would lead me too it. After all, this is an Ashford base." Wesker rose from his chair. "And now that you're awake, we can finally begin." He pointed to a folded parka sitting next to her. "You may want to put that on, it's about negative thirty on the Celsius scale."

The parka was thick, with a faux fur rimmed hood, an uninspiring black in color. Claire slid her arms into, internally grateful for the warmth. Her vest had been fine in the cool mid latitudes, but here, she could die from exposure, inside or outside.

Wesker pressed the switch to lower the rear hatch of the cargo plane. As soon as he did, an icy cold gust of wind shot into the plane, whipping Claire's ponytail back. She gasped at what felt like a sheet of needles stung her face. Quickly, she reached up and lifted the hood, which helped very little, then stuck her hands into her pockets. It didn't matter; the cold went right through her jeans. Wesker, however, seemed barely affected. He still donned his black soldier's outfit. The sleeves were even rolled up.

Through the howling wind and snow that was the main scenery for all of the continent, Claire was just able to make out a structure. They were on the end of an airfield. To her shock, there were ruined planes smoldering all over the runway of ice, all identical cargo planes.

_Like the one me and Steve tried to escape on..._

Wesker grabbed her roughly by the arm and began to haul her towards the structure. Either the cold _did_ bother him, or he was growing impatient. They reached it soon, entering a dome shaped area through a door. If Claire hoped for a heated interior, she was sorely disappointed. The inside of building was frozen, everything covered in an icy coat of neglect. There was no wind, but each breath Claire took puffed thickly. It was still deathly cold, and she was already frozen solid from being outside for a short time.

"So why are we here again?" she muttered unhappily, pulling down her hood.

Wesker chose to ignore her, instead marching along the walkway that spanned the dome, heading to a set of double doors down a short ladder. "Here is where we part ways, Miss Redfield," he said as Claire stepped off the ladder after him. He removed his sidearm from his belt, then held it out to her, handle first. She took it, first hesitant, then grateful that he was at least willing to arm her.

"Running off again?" she asked sarcastically. "Just what the hell do you want me to do?"

"Survey the area, gather intelligence, all the sorts a thing a spy is supposed to do," Wesker replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "One thing to keep in mind, Claire." He pointed towards the ceiling. Claire looked up and saw a tiny camera in the corner. It looked new, almost out of place, as if it had been recently installed. "Spotters have been deployed throughout the facility. Do _not_ try anything funny, as I will be watching, and I rather detest comedy."

He pushed through the door and was gone, leaving Claire to stare back at the camera. Was he bluffing? Did he really have the entire place already wired? Doubtful, but she learned to realize that Wesker never bluffed. He still held her leash.

Seeing no point in following him, Claire turned and went back up the small ladder. There was a door they had passed. She opened it and was greeted by a now familiar, yet still terrifying smell: decomposition.

"Christ, not again," she whispered to herself, holding her hand over her mouth.

Bodies littered what once used to be a bunk house, but none of them were moving. They were already rotting, the cause of death no longer ascertainable on any of them. Claire waited for a minute to see if they shifted, then stepped into the room, taking care to step over the corpse in her way. The room was divided into two halves, each side with bunks, and a set of lockers splitting them.

Most of the lockers were either locked or empty. The one thing that caught Claire's eye was a stub of red underneath a scattering of useless paper. She fished it out; it was a diary. A brief scan of its pages revealed that it was one of the workers. Not exactly the most happy one either. It looked like working for Umbrella wasn't all what it was cracked up to be, especially when Alfred ran the place.

What was most disturbing was the mention of some a story about some kind of monster in the facility. Knowing Umbrella, it was probably true.

Claire turned another page in the diary, then froze when a low moan wafted through the cold air. There was the sound of material sliding against material, then a dull thump. Slowly, she turned around. A corpse that had been half hanging from a bunk had fallen, and was now writhing, getting to its feet.

No matter how many times she saw them, it sent a chill down her already cold spine. The byproduct of Umbrella's T-Virus straightened, raised its arms and shambled towards her, mouth gaping for her flesh. Claire dropped the diary and raised her gun, firing once into the thing's forehead before it could get any closer. A juicy spray of bloody matter blew from the back of its skull, painting the dirty green sheets of the bunks.

More moans, and more living corpses started moving now that flesh had wandered into the room. Claire ran, heading for the door, bursting through it just as one of them lunged for her. She slammed it shut behind her, the scrabbling of searching hands audible through the freezing metal.

_Guess I'm not going back in there..._

There was one last area Claire had to check before being force to follow Wesker's path. It was a small flight of stairs that led down, deeper into the complex. Now that she knew that there was yet another spill, she descended slowly, keeping her gun poised at her shoulder. Several of the lights were broken, leaving the passage dim and hard to see.

The stairs ended, turning into a narrow, low lit hallway. The walls were covered with something. Claire reached out and cautiously touched it; it felt sticky and light, like a spiders web. There was a lot of it, too. She rounded a corner and-

-_oh God._

There was a person woven into the material, like a fly in a web. Claire gaped at it, scuttling back, but remembering just in time to not bump into the wall. She had this horrible vision of getting tangled in it, struggling until whatever made it found her.

_Itsy bitsy spider..._

She swallowed her rising gorge and continued, rounding another corner. The scenery didn't exactly get better. There was another person embedded in the web, as well as one hanging from the ceiling. Then she heard the flutter of wings and saw movement.

There was something perched on the hanging body, something with big gray wings and a segmented body. It took Claire a second to recognize it through her rising fear; it was a giant moth. It ceased whatever it was doing on the corpse's back and fluttered off, its wings beating louder than a normal bird's.

Claire yelped in panic as it gunned straight for her. She raised her hands, trying to swat it away. It felt dusty and cold, with prickly little claws scratching at her skin. Each beat of its wings dumped a fine powder into the air, causing her to cough as it entered her lungs.

She batted it away and took off running. There was a door at the end of the hall. As she neared it, another moth detached itself from the webbing on the walls and fluttered after her. Before she could get the door open, it was on her back. This time, she outright screamed as it clung to her shoulder. Claire flailed, managing to knock it off. It felt like (and was) a bug latched on to her, only the normally tiny, prickly feeling was about a thousand times bigger.

She got her hand on the door knob and yanked, pulling it open, then jumped through, closing it before one of the things could float after her. As soon as it was closed, Claire bat her hands all over her body, trying to shake the feeling away. She hated bugs with a passion...

When it felt like her skin had stopped crawling, Claire surveyed the area. It probably wasn't a good idea to freak out and let something get her off guard. She was in a factory of sorts. There were big machines and conveyor belts all over the place. But thankfully, no walking bodies.

Just as she was rounding a machine, she heard the footsteps. Wesker? Couldn't be, he wouldn't just be wandering around. They were steady, without the shuffle of a carrier. So one of Wesker's men?

Claire raised her gun, so she could shoot it if it proved to be hostile. If not, oh well. That's what 'sorry' was for. A foot appeared, then-

"_Steve?_"

Sure enough, the auburn haired boy was standing in front of her, looking equally surprised. He too had procured a jacket from somewhere to guard against the cold. He still had one of his submachine guns, clutched firmly in both hands.

"Claire, what?" he asked, bewildered. "How did you-"

He was interrupted as she jumped forward, clasping her arms around his neck. Claire felt a crushing sense of relief from knowing that he had made it out of Rockfort safely. His arms hesitantly circled her waist, holding her close. It felt...good.

"Christ, Steve, I thought you were dead," she whispered.

"Me too," he replied. "I mean, I thought you were dead, not me..."

Claire laughed, for the first time realizing how close to tears she was. She held them back though, and broke her embrace, sniffing hard to clear them. Their blue eyes stared awkwardly at each other. He seemed to be sharing the same feelings she felt now.

"Uh, how did you get here?" Claire asked, breaking the awkwardness. "Why didn't you head somewhere civilized?"

Steve snorted. "Like I had a choice. That freak Alfred automatically rerouted all the planes leaving Rockfort. I couldn't turn the auto pilot off. They all crashed on the runway here, including me. I was the only lucky one..."

"Wait," Claire said. "Is he here?"

"Probably, I haven't run into him yet, but I've got a full mag with his name on it." He paused for a second. "Claire, how did _you _get here?"

Claire opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. What was she supposed to say, Wesker gave her a lift? She briefly thought about saying that she got on another plane, but that wouldn't make any sense. How could the two of them have survived separate crashes? She couldn't tell him, not without Wesker knowing. A room this big had to have a few spotters in it. What was she supposed to do?

"Well, Steve, I...couldn't make back to the plane, so..." she trailed off, then suddenly hugged him again. "I'm just glad you're okay." Then she dropped her voice to an almost inaudible whisper in his ear. "_He's watching me..._"

Steve stiffened, but didn't stay anything. He was smart enough to sense that something wasn't quite right, and didn't pull away from her embrace.

"_Just act normal, please._"

"Okay Claire," he said casually, patting her back as if he was soothing her. "Who cares how you got out, as long as you got out?"

They broke apart, their faces plastered with fake contentment. Like nothing else mattered. Hopefully it would be enough. Wesker was watching her, and if Steve was right, Alfred could be running around somewhere. Plus, the T-virus had gotten loose, and if this was an Umbrella research station, there might be B.. But at least Steve was okay. That much she was thankful for.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Look harder," Claire insisted loudly, "I'm sure there's some ammo around here somewhere."

She and Steve pawed around the tiny office, apparently looking for bullets or anything else to use as a weapon. The room was out of the way, and regrettably, forced them to traverse the moth hallway again. Claire made sure to make Steve go first. He turned out to be a pretty good shot, and swatted all of the horrible insects that tried to descend upon them with minimal ammunition.

The real reason they were combing over the office so well was to search for spotters. Their voiced reasons for an ammo hunt was only in case one ended up nearby. The little things were everywhere, but Claire still held hope that this room, so close to the moth nest, would be empty. It was situated in a dead end, so why would anyone want to watch it?

"Nope, don't see anything," Steve replied, then shot her a questioning look.

Claire looked around the room one more time. There was nothing in any of the corners, nothing hidden behind the locked bookcase or in the desk, and nothing in the locker in the corner of the room. The room was clean. She beckoned Steve to the desk, then motioned for him to sit in the chair behind it. She crouched at the corner of the desk, resting her head on her hands, then waved him closer.

"Look, it's a long story, so I'll just say the basics," she muttered lowly in his ear. They hadn't found any monitoring equipment, but that wasn't a reason to go shouting. "You said your dad sold Umbrella secrets, right? So you know what they do. A while back, there was an outbreak in Raccoon City, which was caused by one of their experimental viruses. I was there, and I found out about them, too. I managed to escape, and was on my way to meet with my brother with a little girl named Sherry."

Claire paused to take a breath. Steve still leaned close, listening intently.

"We were abducted by a man named Albert Wesker. He said if I don't do what he says, he's going to kill her. That's how I ended up on Rockfort, and that's how I ended up here. I don't know what he's looking for, but it has something to do with Alfred. He's got cameras running all over the place, watching everything."

"And you can't try and run without him knowing," Steve realized. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Claire whispered, feeling very tired and scared all of a sudden. "He keeps changing our 'deal', if you can call it that. But I can't do anything-"

"-because of Sherry," Steve finished, shaking his head in disgust. "What a fucker..."

"Yeah," she agreed darkly, a renewed hate for Wesker burning within her. "But I sort of have an idea. I can't get away, but you can. If I can help you escape, you can warn the government or someone about Wesker."

"I just can't leave you here," Steve said, sounding like she had just said the stupidest thing ever.

"We can't do anything about that," Claire said firmly. "Not without risking Sherry. If you can get to the government, someone I know in there should be able to reach my brother. His name's Leon, and that's who I contacted on Rockfort, so maybe they're already on the trail. You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"Well, okay then," Steve said reluctantly. "But getting out isn't exactly easy. Most of the exits are sealed, probably because of Alfred. And we're on Antarctica. Going out on foot is out of the question, and none of the planes are flyable. Unless..."

"What is it?" Claire asked anxiously.

"Earlier, I found mention of an Australian research post about 10 miles away. If I could get a vehicle, I might be able to make it...But the only way to the motor pool is blocked..." He snapped his fingers, which in contrast to their whispering, was as loud as a gun shot. "Unless we could somehow get through the mine wall! Yes! There's a digger in the mineshaft. If we can somehow get it to the right level, we could probably dig through the wall of the facility."

"Worth a shot, let's try it."

"Okay," Steve said, "But just to be safe, let me go ahead and work on it for a bit. It will look suspicious if we go together."

"Okay."

They took one last look around the room before they left it. While inspecting the locker for the second time, Claire noticed a small button, and pushed it. The entire locker jerked, then slid across the floor, revealing a small doorway.

"What's that?" Steve asked. "Hidden room?"

"Looks like it," Claire said, then poked her head inside. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

To her dismay, instead of finding an armory filled with assault rifles and ammo, it was just a bare, empty cement cube with a metal grated floor. She rolled her eyes in annoyance with Steve and was about to leave when she looked down. The grate looked into another room from above, and there was something in it. Something moving.

She squinted and squatted down, trying to get a better look in the dark haze of the room beneath them. Her eyes widened as she saw it.

_Ho-ly shit..._

It looked like the monster detailed in the diary was real.

It was something, vaguely human shaped, restrained to a chair, or more precisely, a throne. It was half clothed in the tattered remnants of a prisoner's jumpsuit. Its entire body was a light shade of green, like something decaying from long ago. Slowly, it tilted its completely bald head up, and screamed through a thick pad that was muzzling it. It had no eyes, at least, Claire assumed that the fact they were covered with a bloody rag meant they were gone.

The sound reached Claire's ears, going straight down her spine and leaving a cold, icy trail that was freezing compared to the temperature around them. Her eyes bulged further, and a scream of terror gurgled up in her throat. It manifested as a small squeak as Steve put one hand on her shoulder, the other over her mouth.

"Back up, very slowly," he breathed, gently tugging on her. Claire half rose from her squat shakily, and backed out of the hidden room, hoping the creature wouldn't look up again. As soon as they were out of the little room, the quickly exited the office. Claire, for once, was glad to be back in the moth corridor. It meant another door between them and that thing.

"What was that?" Claire asked. She felt chilled under her coat from the light sweat she just broke out in.

Steve looked equally pale. "Don't know, really don't care. Let it stay chained up down there."

* * *

After about a half an hour of mindless wandering, shaking the chills of fear from that monster away, Claire began to head to the mining area. The rest of the facility was mostly inaccessible. A large missing part of the catwalk in the factory inhibited her progress going further.

The mining area was a short ways off of the main factory where they first met. Despite the viral leak, the way was void of carriers. Most of them must have been trapped in other parts of the facility. No complaints there.

Maybe it was all the exposed ice, but the mining area was a lot colder than the rest of the facility. It wasn't much more than a large, bare room with a giant hole in the center. Claire peered over the edge, seeing nothing but foggy blackness as the mine went down seemingly forever.

_I wonder what they were digging for? More ice?_

"Steve?" Claire called out.

"Up here." He was on the level above, fiddling with some controls. The digger, a Bobcat with a large drill attached, hung from a crane. "Check this out!"

The crane hummed to life and began to move on its tracks, guided by Steve at the controls. With more precision than Claire gave him credit for, he began to lower the digger onto a smooth patch of ground near the wall. It descended, slowly, until it touched down with a heavy thud.

"Wow, I was sure you were going to hit something," she teased.

Steve rolled his eyes at her as he leaned over the railing. "You know I'm awesome."

Claire laughed, but stopped abruptly as she saw the tiny red dot flicker over Steve's chest. Her eyes widened.

"_STEVE, GET DOWN!_"

Whether it was her scream, or if he sensed it himself, Steve hurled himself away from the railing just as the shot rang out, pinging off the metal bar loudly.

"Did you really think you two could escape so easily?" laughed a woman's voice. Claire recognized it as "Alexia".

"Alfred!" Claire snarled as she pulled her gun out, trying to stay hidden but at the same time, trying to trace the shot back to where it came from. But wherever it did, she couldn't see it. He had to be somewhere on the second level, closer to Steve.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die, Claire," wafted the fluttery, elegant voice. "I have such a nice end picked out for you. You'll feel every ounce of pain as you shriek in agony."Another shot echoed through the room. Claire jumped, but it hadn't been aimed at her. Instead, she heard Steve curse very loudly under Alfred's laughter. "Don't worry, boy, I'll get to you soon enough. Stay put, like a good little rat."

Claire backed up, keeping her her gun raised in front of her. She still didn't have any idea where Alfred could be hiding in the room. The place seemed empty enough, but he would know where all the little nooks and hiding spots were in his own base.

"_Claire, watch it!_"

She spun, and he was right behind her. Alfred's face was still smeared with his fake sister's makeup, giving him the appearance of some kind of nightmarish clown. The only reason she wasn't dead was because he fully intended to make her die slow, just as he promised, rather than just shoot her in the back.

Alfred fired his rifle just as she ducked, the bullet whizzing harmlessly over her. Had he been aiming for her body and not a limb, he might have hit her. Claire hit the ground and managed to turn her fall into a clumsy roll, then sprawled on her side. Alfred swore and racked the bolt of his gun back, trying to chamber another round, but not before she got her gun up and pulled the trigger once, twice, three times.

Red blossoms spread across Alfred's chest as he careened back, dropping his rifle. Without a sound, he tipped over the railing and fell, hitting a ledge on the rocks below with a wet splat. He writhed, letting out a low moan, then slid off the rock with a red smear and into the abyss below.

"Claire!" cried Steve from above. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she called back shakily. "Got the bastard...just gimme a minute."

After catching her breath, she sat up, gripping the hand rail to hoist herself up. But she almost collapsed again when she heard that noise...the creature from before...and it was close.

* * *

"Curse you...Redfield," gasped Alfred as he shuffled along the corridor. "If you think...ugh, that I'm simply...going to die so easily...you are mistaken."

Just let them come and try to take Alexia away. He would kill them all before they got within sight of her. It would be his final stand. He couldn't fail, not now...

But the large, wet path of blood he had been trailing along the wall as he leaned against it said otherwise. Deep inside of him, he knew he was finished, that his wounds were mortal. It was a miracle that the fall hadn't killed him in the first place. It was another miracle that part of the mine breached into the lower labs.

There was just one last thing he had to do: he simply wanted to gaze upon her beauty one last time.

He reached the solid steel door at the end of the corridor and smacked the access switch. The door hissed open to the lab on the other side. Alfred groaned as he pushed off the wall, now bearing the full extent of his injuries with his own strength, which was nearly gone. All around him, the monitors and computers stood idle, gently monitoring the large stasis capsule at the end of the room. Inside, she slept peacefully.

Overcome with grief and pain, Alfred dropped to his knees before it, feeling an overcoming urge to weep. As he did, the room seemed to come alive. Machines switched on and illuminated the dim setting like tiny eyes, anxiously awaiting the appearance of their queen.

_Is it time? I thought it was still such a long ways..._

The 15 year sleep ended, and the tube ran its process, purging itself of its fluid, then opening. Slowly, Alexia opened her shimmering blue eyes, her broken, dying brother the first image they saw. Gracefully, she stepped out, fluid beading over her nude body like tiny diamonds.

Alfred realized that he didn't fail, and he began to cry in both relief and happiness. "Alexia..." he whispered, reaching out to her, "You've finally awoken..." He grunted, then slumped forward on his hands, his wounds coursing pain through his body one last time. Then, he simply felt the life flowing from him. But it was peaceful...very peaceful. He would die, prostrated before her glory, his mission complete.

"Alexia..."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Claire paled at hearing the sound. It was coming...she didn't have to see it to know that it was after them. There was something in that roar that just told her that it was coming for them.

"Steve, hurry up and get that thing working!" she called up. "We can't stay here."

"You don't have to tell me," he said, then swung himself down from the balcony above. He hopped on to the digger, then began to fiddle with the controls.

Claire checked the magazine in her gun. It was the only clip she had, it wasn't even full, and there was no spare ammo. No way would it be enough to fight that _thing_ if it caught up to them. As she looked around, she spotted Alfred's rifle, still laying where he had dropped it when he fell. She went and retrieved it while Steve got the digger working. It was a heavy weapon, something she wasn't used to, but it was better than nothing. Claire wiggled the shoulder strap over her bodice until it sat snugly on her back.

The digger rumbled as Steve keyed the ignition, the large drill on the front spinning idly. "Hey Claire!" he yelled over it. "Get under some cover. I don't know how stable this place is, so something might fall from the ceiling."

She did as he said, ducking under the balcony that housed the controls. Steve kicked the digger into gear, then turned it straight towards the wall. The sound of metal on metal reverberated loudly off the walls, forcing Claire to smash her hands over her ears to try and block some of the sound. The digger bucked as it tore deeper into the wall. Then, a spray of water burst from the edge of the drill; it must have hit a water pipe in the wall.

Once the drill reached the end of its thread, Steve started to back the vehicle up. Water now poured into the mine, falling down the shaft in a man-made waterfall. Cold, freezing air gushed in through the resulting hole. They'd done it! The cold Antarctic landscape was visible through the jagged opening.

"Come on!" Steve called as he threw his hood up against the wind, waving at her.

Claire grit her teeth, both from the wind, and from hoping that Wesker's spotters weren't watching her, and if they were, that he wasn't interpreting this as an escape. The truth was that they needed to put some distance between that creature. Nonetheless, she pulled the fur-rimmed hood over her head, then jogged after Steve, carefully avoiding the frigid water. It was cold enough without having to be wet.

Outside, a light snow had started, but because of a strong wind, it made the visibility very low. Snow from the ground billowed into the air, mixing with that falling from the sky, turning everything near-white. Steve clapped a hand on her shoulder to get her attention, then pointed towards a ladder that led to a heliport on the side of the building.

"The motor pool's on the other side," he yelled over the wind. "You should be able to get back into the building from there, too."

"Then let's get going," Claire yelled back. "It's freezing out here!"

Together, with Steve leading the way, they ascended the ladder. It was a fairly long climb up. Each rung up, Claire was sure to make sure she had a solid grip and footing. The very wind threatened to off-balance them, and the metal was slippery under her fingers and feet.

Claire wasn't sure if Steve's experience as a pilot extended to helicopters, but it was a moot point anyway, because the landing pad was empty. There were only pockets of wind-blown snow obscuring a bright yellow H painted onto the metal surface.

At the other end of the pad was a small catwalk that led back down the ground, and beyond that, the motor pool where they hoped to find a snow mobile or some form of transport. Claire went first, then froze. She saw the dark figure through the shifting winds, tall and wavering, walking up the catwalk on rotted, bare feet. It got closer, the finer details emerging; muscular build, gray-green flesh...no eyes...

Automatically, she took a step back in terror and disgust, bumping into Steve. He hadn't seen it yet. As he did, it began to change. The creature tipped forward at the waist, it's back bubbling, then tearing apart as something emerged from it. Four long, fleshy tentacles of varying length unfolded themselves, the longest of them almost twice as tall as Claire herself. Each one was tipped with a tiny, snipping claw that clicked as they opened and shut greedily.

She felt Steve's arm grab her shoulder and roughly pull her back, then saw him jump forward, raising his submachine gun. The creature's tentacle came around. Claire ducked, but Steve didn't. It struck him high on the shoulder and knocked him off his feet, sending him skidding across the landing pad and over the edge.

"_Steve!_" Claire screamed as she scrambled to the edge, monster forgotten. It was almost a three story drop, and there was no telling what he might land on. He might fall lightly into a snowdrift, or land on his neck on a jagged piece of ice...

But somehow, Steve had grabbed a twisted piece of rebar sticking out from the heliport, and was now dangling above an icy white expanse. Claire reached down to help him up, but then remember the thing. It was just stepping onto the flat surface of the landing pad. Despite the fact that it couldn't see through the bloody blindfold, it was coming straight for her.

"Hold on Steve!" she said to him. "I'll waste that thing and come back."

He grunted in effort as she got to her feet. "Claire, don't be an idiot. Just run!"

She ignored him, then turned and bolted to the other side of the heliport, putting distance between her and the creature, then slung the rifle off of her back. She tried to stick the butt of the gun firmly in her shoulder, then peer into the scope, but the bulk of her jacket was making it a nightmare. All the while, the creature steadily moved closer.

Its chest had split open, revealing a giant, pulsating red heart, pumping furiously. Trying to focus on that red beacon in the flying snow, Claire tried to control her breathing to steady her shot. Snow on the lens of the rifle forced her to squint through water, further obscuring her chances. Then, the creature flailed.

Claire jumped, resetting her shot, but the swing was nowhere close to her. Something flew through the air, landing on the metal of the landing pad. Tiny, purple globs of some fleshy substance speckled the ground, then began to hiss and steam, releasing a noxious, purple gas. The wind whipped it towards her, and she breathed, then gagged and cough. It smelled like a hundred different bad smells, all rolled into one, burning the inside of her lungs.

She stumbled out of the fog, just as the creature struck. The tentacle came close, but Claire dove to the frozen ground, the appendage sailing harmlessly over her. That close to the edge, and the blow would have knocked her to her death. Scrambling, she got to her feet, dragging the rifle with her as the blind creature released more gaseous clumps.

The other side of the heliport was clear of the fumes, allowing her to breath easier, but the inside of her chest still burned. Claire pushed it out of her mind. Steve couldn't hold on for very much longer; she needed to drop the monster now.

She aimed again, then gently put the crosshairs over the pulsing heart and squeezed the trigger smoothly. The gun kicked hard, throwing her shot high into the creature's shoulder. It roared angrily and swung its appendages as Claire loaded another round. She aimed, fired. A large murky red hole appeared near the heart, but only served to infuriate the monster further.

Claire sighted the weapon again, then held her breath as the heart swam over the crosshairs. She squeezed the trigger, and the organ exploded into a violet mess as the high caliber round tore through it, staining the pockets of snow with red. The creature gave a final scream, then tipped forward, motionless.

She dropped the rifle and ran back to the corner where Steve was, praying that he was still there. He was, his hand holding the rebar bone white and trembling.

"Claire, thank God you're okay," he exclaimed in a strained voice as she looked over the edge.

"Told you I'd be back," she reassured him, then went prone on her stomach to reach down to him.

It was a far reach, but she was just able to grab his other hand. She grit her teeth and pulled, hefting him upwards. It wasn't easy. Steve was dangling, so gravity was entirely against them both as they struggled. Eventually, she was able to reach down again and grab him by the scruff of his coat after she got his other hand to the ledge while he pulled himself up with both hands. Finally, he toppled back onto the heliport, both of them laying on the metal, panting.

"You know," Claire gasped, wincing slightly at the pain in her lungs. "You're heavier than you look."

"Very funny," Steve grumbled, but chuckled all the same. As they got to their feet, he looked to her, worried. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she replied, breathing hard and holding her side. The burning was getting worse, and now her skin felt hot. "Just...just a little out of breath. Let's go."

They made it to the frozen tundra, and lo and behold, there was already a snow mobile waiting for them, one of those big, truck-like ones for long distance. Steve ran to check it. The door was unlocked and the keys were even inside. He paused, standing on the step to the driver seat.

"I wish you could come with me," he said, looking crestfallen.

"Don't worry about me," Claire said. Her entire face felt hot. "Go get help. You're Sherry's only chance."

Steve nodded. "You're right. I promise Claire, I will come back."

They paused. Claire felt that she should do something better as a good-bye, but instead, just looked away. She was about to wish him luck when she felt a small tremor run through the ground.

Then the ground beneath them began to shake...

* * *

_Brother...dear, dear brother..._

The short, silky folds of his hair were moist, the last touches of his perspiration gently wetting them as her palm gently stroked over his bangs. He was to be commended. He had performed marvelously, like a true soldier, an Ashford to the very end. Even better, he had performed like a true brother.

Her legion whispered to her, requesting the attention of their queen. The connection with them had been hypothesized, though it was unknown if it would even work at all. When she slept, her mind was silent, and upon working, buzzed with a never ending chorus. But right now, they would be ignored. The single, solitary soldier who now slept peacefully in her lap was at the center of her world. Slowly, softly, she began to sing. The song was one of his favorites.

She knew everything. This place was her hive, her colony. No corner was left unwatched, whether it be from the facility's eyes, or the thousands upon thousands of eyes of her legion deep within the walls. The ones who had killed him, they were trying to escape...They had even disturbed father, but his uselessness continued, even after all the years of his isolation. They had killed him easily, and for that, she did not care. But they had killed her brother...

Slowly, the anger warmed her limbs. She reached out with her touch, through the cold, frozen ice, burrowing closer and closer. They would not escape. Their lives would be hers. And they would know the true meaning of terror.

Her arm exploded from the ground; she saw it as if she was there herself. They tried to run, to hide in the vehicle, but she simply overturned it, smashing it again and again into the ground. Smoke and flames began to rise and curl.

_Die...

* * *

_

Everything swam, slowly blinking in and out of focus. First it was clear, then fuzzy, then black. When it became clear, time had jumped. Back and forth, back and forth. The banging and tumbling had stopped, the world finally settling down.

Claire's eyes wandered. She was in pain, her body twisted in a position it shouldn't be. Where was Steve? She couldn't see him...There was smoke, heat, and cold all at once.

It was huge, a giant, gray snake with a pointed tip. There were no eyes and no mouth, but it was alive; just a solid mass of muscle that had emerged from beneath them. It sat, poised, ready to strike again, almost if it was staring at her, just her. Then...

_Singing...?_ A soft woman's voice seemed to resonate from the appendage. It was the most beautiful melody she had ever heard.

Everything faded to black, but this time, didn't return.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_Warm sunlight fell over the park. The green grass smelled fresh, and the sound of flowing water flowed from the various water features the park had to offer._

_Claire lay across the park bench, eyes closed, her head resting on Chris's lap. The basket which once held their lunch now sat empty at the foot of the bench. It had been a nice picnic, just the two of them, and for once Chris didn't have to eat in his uniform. They had the whole day to themselves, but she was content to just spend the rest of it laying there._

_"Hey Claire?" Chris asked. She cracked one eye to squint through the high afternoon sunlight. His head was tipped back, his own eyes closed in a light snooze._

_"Yeah?"_

_"How are you doing?"_

_"Just fine," she replied. There was hesitation and uncertainty in his voice when he asked the question. Chris only sounded like when he talked to her about personal things._

_"You know what I mean," he pressed. "How are you doing? Is it getting better?"_

_Claire sighed lightly. "Yeah, I guess. It's not getting easier, but it's getting better."_

_"What's that mean?" he asked with a chuckle._

_"Don't know."_

_"Sleeping any better?"_

_"Yeah, a little. Getting around an extra hour each night, but still only about three or four hours total. It's making classes tough, but I'm hanging in there okay."_

_Sleeping was almost impossible for her. After the accident, every time she closed her eyes, she would feel that crushing loneliness and fear that her parents were gone. It had kept her staring wide-eyed in the darkness for a few months afterward. Now, it sort of settled in the back of her mind, never building to its initial panic, but never truly ever leaving her. She had therapy twice a week._

_"Glad to hear it," Chris said, giving her shoulders a small squeeze. "Just give it time, Claire. It's not easy for me either, even if I am your all-powerful big brother."_

_What felt like a cold breeze brushed across her skin. Claire shivered, even thought the sun was shining and the air was warm...

* * *

_

"C'mon Claire...wake up."

Everything swirled into darkness and vanished, except for the shivering. That only intensified until she was outright shaking. Something was preventing her from curling into a ball for warmth.

Claire opened her eyes, gummy and crusted with grit, then blinked once in the low, ambient light. Her skin and clothes felt soaked with sweat, cold sweat. Breathing came irregular, her throat thick and sore, chest burning slightly. _That monster...and the gas..._Everything felt shaky and numb.

"That's it..."

Something was holding her in place. Her fuzzy nerve endings couldn't tell what though. Claire caught that she was prone, at least probably, judging from the sense of gravity, but who knew if _that_ was working right? It was comfortable enough, laying partly propped up against something, but what the hell was it?

She tipped her head back, but finding that she barely had enough strength to move it, it simply fell back, mashing her damp ponytail into the back of her neck. A face swam into view, but her eyes only made out a large blob of flesh colored skin.

"Hey, take it easy, you're safe now."

Ever so slowly, the face came into focus, photon by photon. The tussled hair, the light blue eyes that bared a resemblance to her own...Her heart soared. She wanted to scream it, but all that came out was a small, gasping croak.

"Chris?"

Her brother smiled warmly at her, then squeezed her gently, his arm around her waist, safely holding her close against his chest. "Yeah, Claire, it's me."

Even though Chris held her and she was very weak, she managed to squirm around as her limbs found new energy. She twisted and threw her arm around his neck and squeezed as hard as she could. Chris returned her embrace, one arm around her waist, the other patting her back.

"Christ, I thought I'd never find you again..." she whispered.

Chris sighed, the heave of his chest swamping her smaller frame. His facial features were etched in desperate relief. "Same here, kiddo...same here." She suddenly sagged, all of her strength expended in the short burst of affection. Chris managed to unhook her from her death grip on him and tucked her back against his chest. "Easy Claire, drink some of this." He pressed the rim of a canteen against her lips, and she drank gratefully, blessedly cool water flowing down her burning throat and pooling delightfully into her stomach. Some spilled from her lips, which he quickly wiped away with his thumb.

Claire settled back, the rough but comforting material of his vest brushing her cheek. "How did you find me?" she asked weakly, unable to do much else other than focus on breathing.

"Later Claire. Just rest," Chris said firmly, drawing a coat over her that had fallen off when she scrambled to hug him. Where was her jacket? After a brief, foggy scan of the area around them, she thought she recognized its fur-rimmed hood a few feet away, but it was covered in what look like mucus; the bright green snot someone blew out when they had a sinus infection.

Claire didn't want to think that she had been wearing that jacket when it was covered in that stuff, but then she felt the stickiness on her legs, as if something had seeped through her jeans. She shut her eyes tightly, suppressing the gag of bile at what _might_ have happened while she was unconscious.

Despite Chris wanting her to rest, she continued to look around like a curious child, then noticed the tube leading to her wrist. It led to a makeshift IV drip, the bag filled with some yellow liquid hanging from the banister behind Chris.

_A banister, like, on a staircase? Where are we?_

Wherever it was, it wasn't a industrial facility like the Antarctic place had been. This was a lot nicer, like a house of some kind.

"Don't worry, it's a little something that'll help," Chris said when he saw her lift her wrist to look at the IV. He pushed her arm back to her lap to let the medicine do its work. "I found it with a stack of medical files talking about this kind of poison. When I found you, you were showing some of the symptoms. This is a serum to counteract it."

_Didn't happen to mention the monster, did it?_ It probably did. Chris was trying to skip details to cajole her into resting. For once, she didn't care. All she did care about was the fact that he was holding her, every so often dabbing at her cold wet forehead with a damp rag. His arms, body, and the coat he pulled over her kept her warm, fighting the chills that still threatened to shake her apart.

"God, I'm so c-cold," Claire exhaled, her lower lip trembling.

"You've got a fever from whatever you contracted. If this stuff helps, it should start to clear up soon. But it looks like the worst is over. You had me worried sick when you wouldn't wake up..."

Claire grinned through chattering teeth. "L-looking out for your little sister, just like a big brother should."

The last thing she remembered was all fuzzy. The snowmobile had been knocked over by some _thing_. There was pain, a lot of it, and she had smelled smoke, even saw fire. But after that was a gap.

-_wait, Steve!_

Claire twisted underneath Chris's arm just as a wave of fatigue hit her. What had happened to him? She didn't hear or see him when they were attacked. She had to tell Chris!

"Chris..." came her feeble voice. It was getting hard to keep her eyes open.

"Shhh, Claire," he whispered, "Just rest."

"No...there's....Steve..."

She barely even whispered his name. Chris didn't react, didn't ask, probably didn't even hear her. Her body simply switched off without her permission into a fever induced sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

When Claire woke again some time later, the violent cold had passed. Her sweat covered forehead was warm and pleasantly damp. The rest of her body felt warmer, and the feeling of being plunged in ice water vanished. She could feel the moisture under her arms as she pitted out and the river of sweat down her back, but she was no longer shivering. The fever had broken.

"Feeling better?" Chris asked in her ear as he lifted his forehead from resting on her shoulder, his big arms still around her waist.

Claire wet her chapped lips before whispering back. "Much." He tipped the canteen to her mouth again, letting her sip another cool stream of water. "Chris, listen. We have to hurry. We have to find Steve."

Chris understandably paused. "Steve? Who's that?"

"He's a guy I met on Rockfort, one of the prisoners. He helped me escape-"

"A prisoner?" Chris interrupted incredulously.

Claire shook her head, then tugged at his arms with her own. He let go and allowed her to lean next to him against the banister. "It's not like that, he didn't do anything wrong. He saved my life and...and helped me escape. I just can't leave him here."

The last part of that was a little fib, Claire realized. It was Wesker who had saved her from the Rockfort destruction sequence. Remembering that caused the warm sensation of being with her brother to vanish. Wesker said he was going to kill Chris!

_And he doesn't know that I'm being blackmailed by him!_

The realization must have crossed her face, because Chris looked at her cautiously. "Claire are you okay?"

Claire couldn't imagine what Chris would say or do if he found out what was happening. Wesker had made it pretty clear just what he thought of Chris, and she knew the feeling was probably mutual. Her brother was ex-Air Force, and despite his little temper issue from time to time, believed in honor, duty, and justice, all that good stuff. It's why he went into S.T.A.R.S with Barry Burton, and explained his hatred at Wesker for betraying that goodness.

But he valued all of that second when it came to her. Chris would throw all those morals out the window if it meant she would live. If he found out that she was working for Wesker, working to spread the evil he fought so desperately, Claire didn't know what he would say or do...and that scared her.

"Yeah, I feel fine," she lied. "We have to find Steve. C'mon!" She pushed off the banister behind her and got to her feet. "Whoa-"

-and immediately fell forward as her legs buckled from beneath her. One minute they had felt fine, the next, they simply ceased to exist. The result was her tumbling to the floor face first almost comically. She might have even laughed if it wasn't for the most recent panic attack now overtaking her.

_Oh God, am I paralyzed!?_

"Hold on a minute Claire, you're in no condition to go anywhere," Chris said firmly as he gently helped her back against the wall. "Your fever's gone, but that poison, whatever it was, did a number on you. I think you're lucky to be awake right now."

"Chris, we _can't_ just sit here!" she said, the panic now creeping into her voice. She shrugged his hands off. "We have to find him!" How long had she been separated from Steve? She was sure the poison hadn't hit him, but what else was lurking around the facility? One of those moths could have built a web around him, laying God knows what into his body. Or that thing that attacked them could have taken him. Was he even alive?

_Chris, just listen to me, please!_

Her brother scratched his stubble-laden chin, grimacing slightly. She knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. What he wanted to do was pick her up and carry her out of this hell hole, kicking and screaming if need be. But she also knew that if someone had helped her needed saving, he would do the right thing. He needed to.

_Please Chris, do the right thing. For once, don't just think about me!_

"Okay," he said after a pause. "Here's what we'll do. You can't move, so you're not going to. This place should be safe, at least for now. It shouldn't take me long." His face darkened. "This place almost has the same layout as the Spencer mansion in Raccoon, so I know my way around."

Finally, Claire took into consideration their surroundings. She was sitting on smooth polished marble. The banister she was was leaning on was part of a giant staircase that led to a balcony above them. Every bare surface was expensive stone, lavishly carved, covered by red carpet that led to a set of mahogany double doors. It was hard to believe that such a grandiose piece of architecture was in Antarctica, but then again, Claire wouldn't be surprised if they weren't there anymore.

Chris reached into a pocket on his vest. The tactical garment bore the RPD S.T.A.R.S lettering, and the green military-grade shit beneath it had the official emblem patched into the sleeves. He pulled out a handgun, along with a spare magazine and pressed them into her hands.

"You know how to use one of these," he said, and Claire nodded. "Try to see if you can get those legs moving while I look for Steve."

"Okay," Claire said. "He's about my height, auburn hair and blue eyes. You can't miss him."

Chris grinned. "Sounds like someone I know."

She grinned back, realizing that she may as well described herself. "Yeah. And he's kind of annoying, so try not to punch him, okay?"

"No promises."

Chris took off through one of the ground floor doors, leaving Claire at the banister. After a moment's thought, she started to half crawl, half scoot towards the line of columns that ran beneath the balcony above them. It was a better hiding spot. If some thing came wandering about, she'd be sitting in plain sight by the stairs.

Her legs weren't completely gone as she feared. She could still feel them tingling as if circulation had been cut off for a while. She settled for rubbing them, trying to force some more strength into her thighs. The damp spots on her jeans felt greasy, and for a moment, she paused to look at the residue that had transferred to her fingers and gloves.

It was the same stuff that covered her coat, light green and phlegmy. Claire could feel the stickiness as she flexed her hand, the mucus thick and clumpy, and the crap reeked. Her face furrowed in disgust, and she hurriedly wiped it back onto her jeans. Then she noticed the area behind the banister.

It was a small alcove in the wooden structure covered in the stuff. There was an irregular hole in it, as if something was once inside of it. Stuck in the mucus, she caught the familiar handle of a combat knife, its blade plunged deep into the muck. There were trails on the floor that led away from the cocoon that looked like drag marks which just happened to pass right next to where the ruined coat lay...

_Oh God, please don't tell me that was me inside there..._

That now-familiar urge to vomit came back, this time a lot stronger than before. Claire clamped her eyes shut and furiously turned her attention back to her legs, brushing away a fresh coat of sweat on her brow. It didn't matter _what_ had happened. Chris saved her, and she wasn't stuck in some snot prison, end of story. The last thing she needed were more nightmares; she still hadn't gotten over the ones from Raccoon.

When she heard a door open about a half hour later, Claire half expected it to be Chris and almost called out to him. Her heart soared, then froze as a heavy silence settled over the mansion hall. Wouldn't Chris be moving, or calling out for her? And wouldn't there be two sets of footprints if he had found Steve?

But there was only one set, and they were coming from _above_ her, on one of the balconies. They were too light; Chris was built like a tank and moved like one too, and if he had to carry Steve, they would be even heavier. These footsteps were soft with a rustle of fabric between them. Claire quietly tucked herself behind the column she leaned against, raising the gun to her chest.

"Come out, come out, little rat," sang a musical voice suddenly. "I know you've wriggled free of my web and are hiding here somewhere..."

Claire's eyes widened as she recognized the voice. It was the same voice Alfred spoke in when he was dressing as his imaginary sister! But she put three holes in his chest, and he'd fallen into an icy crevice. There was no way he was still alive, let alone walking around!

"...No matter. I will find you eventually."

Still moving as quietly as possible, Claire slid herself further behind the column, but when another door opened and she heard another familiar chuckle, she couldn't help risking a peek. When she did, she immediately regretted it. Her eyes widened; it was Wesker.

And he wasn't wearing his sunglasses.

* * *

She was more beautiful than he had last seen her. Young Alexia Ashford had matured into a perfect woman during her slumber. Wesker would admit to himself he had a thing for blond women, and though he didn't care one bit about the arrogance she was known for, he felt a slight attraction for her.

"At last we meet, Alexia. I'm sure you don't know who I am, but I know quite a bit about you."

He began his approach with a few steps forward, watching her carefully. She looked like a beautiful woman, but the T-Veronica Virus had changed her. Just like himself. Just because it wasn't visibly obvious didn't mean he should drop his guard. Especially since Alexia was a bit...eccentric, even when she had been a little girl.

_Eccentric is too polite of a term...the girl was outright insane._ Only an insane person would experiment with a virus on their own body.

"Ah, you must be the _other_ intruder to my hive," she replied grandiosely, like she couldn't wait to meet him all this time. "I was wondering who was able to slip in so unnoticed."

_So I've impressed her. Perhaps this will be easier than I anticipated. _She didn't remark on his eyes, though she undoubtedly had noticed them. Chris had shattered his glasses when they stumbled into each other, and he hadn't had time to replace them with his spares. Maybe he intrigued Alexia as much as she did him.

"I've taken an interest in your research into the T-Veronica Virus." He reached the foot of the stairs, beginning the ascent one step at a time. Just a little closer, and if he needed to, he could forcibly subdue her. "I would very much like to obtain a sample of it, if I could."

She grinned slightly. "You want it?" The grin suddenly stretched into a full blown smile. Her lips bared back, teeth gleaming like fangs as her jaw trembled from the force pressing down on it. "You are not worthy of its power!"

With that, she tipped her head back and cackled wildly, her blue eyes dancing with madness, and began to change.

As the woman began to descend the stairs, her skin flickered, then began to glow. Suddenly, it burst into flames, though Alexia herself didn't scream in pain or agony as her flesh boiled and crisped. Her purple dress curled and fell away, turning to ash on the steps behind her. Wesker caught a brief glimpse of bare skin before it grayed, parts of it becoming cauterized like an insect's carapace, most prominently along her right arm and left leg. The cascade of golden hair swirled in the flames, shortening and hardening to thick strands that fell over half of her face.

Three step later, the once beautiful woman was now a monstrous humanoid insect with pale green eyes. The only thing that remained was the brilliant smile, still humanly white and insane.

Wesker's eyes widened as he watched the abrupt, painless, and fascinating metamorphosis.

_Amazing...she excretes some type of combustible substance that acts as a catalyst to the transformation, all without pain. If she-_

Wesker's thoughts were interrupted as Alexia daintily lifted her hand, swatting him underneath the chin with incredible force despite how lady-like the action was. He was lifted off his feet, but managed to twist his body into a flip and landed at the foot of the stairs, crouched with the grace of a panther. He flexed his jaw; the blow didn't hurt, his enhanced body dealt with all but the most severe pain, but he did feel the impact from the swipe.

He slowly straightened himself, rubbing the faint tingle in his jaw. Alexia halted halfway down the stairs, then leaped into the air, heading straight for him. Wesker easily rolled out her way, then turned to face her as she elegantly rose before him.

"I was hoping to have you obediently turn yourself in," he mused slightly with a smirk. "But no matter. I will take you by force instead."

Alexia lifted her arm suddenly, and Wesker caught site of something in the air and felt wetness on his body. Then, everything ignited.

Fire was something that not even a virus-enhanced body could deal with. It struck the very nerves, no matter how deep or dull. Pain engulfed Wesker's left arm as it suddenly became ablaze with twisting orange flame. Through a series of waves and pats, the miniature blaze was quelled, leaving searing blisters along his forearm. He grunted in pain, then looked to see what the hell just happened.

Alexia lowered her arm, the entire limb sizzling and dotted with flames. Something red dripped from it that pattered to the floor, only to combust a second later into dancing flames. Her very blood was flammable in the air, and she was using it as a weapon.

With another wave of her hand, Alexia sent a spatter of blood at him. A smell similar to cordite filled the air as Wesker dodged it, his movements like a blur of black smoke. Another wave came, and another, and another, and another...soon, the foyer of the mansion was ablaze, filling with smoke and criss-crossing paths of fire.

Wesker weaved between a stream Alexia threw at him, then moved in close, delivering a punch to her gray cheek. The blow turned her head, and as it did, her hand came up to shield the spot, effectively dousing him in fire once again. Wesker tumbled away, beating at the flames on his body as Alexia hazily staggered to her senses.

The one visible eye that Wesker could see from behind her matted hair glared at him with a poisonous green light. He glared tersely back with his red cat iris', but the sweat he was beginning to feel wasn't from the heat. She was stronger than he thought. He could beat her in speed, and they were matched in strength, but her blood was wild and erratic. It made controlling the fight impossible.

Another wave, another arc of blood, another trail of fire. He dodged, but failed to see the figure that leaped out from behind the row of columns to avoid the blaze as well.

"Claire!" Wesker said in genuine surprise.

The Redfield girl that had proven to be so useful in his plans struggled to her feet. "You!" she spat back. She was trying her best to sound furious, but Wesker saw that panicked fear in her eyes as she glared at him.

It was unwise to turn his attention away from Alexia, Wesker found out, as a shower of flaming blood ignited the area around him, including his arm once again. He quickly smothered the flames, then shot a glance back at her. She was smiling wickedly with her arm cocked from its swing.

He was an idiot to have tried and apprehended her like this, but he wasn't unprepared for such an event. It would only require a strategic retreat, and then he could return with the force and methods for subduing Alexia properly.

Wesker smirked slightly, edging toward the mansion's double doors as he glanced at Claire. "My dear heart, you've proven yourself so able in the past. Why don't I let you handle this?" Then he dashed to the door.

"_Coward!_" Claire screamed after him.

He felt the heat when he shut the door as Alexia threw one last volley of blood at him, which would effectively prevent Claire from leaving the same way. Her usefulness had expired. He had located Alexia, and Chris was in the facility as well. As soon as he captured Alexia, he could choose to finish Chris off, but perhaps he would wait and allow him to scream over his sister's charred remains.

_Yes, I think that will do perfectly._


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

A solid wall of fire erupted across Claire's path, turning the lush red carpet up the middle of the stairs to ash. She squealed as the intense heat hit her and tumbled down the bottom few steps of the grand staircase, her attempt to escape to the second floor dashed before it even started.

_God, this is Alfred's sister?_

So it turned out there _was_ an Alexia, and she was even more bat-shit insane than her brother. Claire didn't know the details; she didn't know why the seemingly normal looking woman had suddenly mutated into the bride of Satan. What she did know that said bride of Satan was now attempting to burn her alive with her own flaming blood.

Alexia loomed over Claire, teeth bared in ecstasy as she tried to get to her feet. A thick, viscous fluid dribbled from the corners of her mouth that steamed like acid. She raised her right arm again, preparing to swing and release another shower of deadly blood.

Claire hurled herself away at the last moment as the foot of the stairs became an inferno, wishing her shaky legs would pull their own goddamn weight already. She could stand, but barely. Running was out of the question, as was fighting. If Wesker, who'd killed one of Umbrella's weapons with his _bare hands _ran away, she was screwed even with a gun.

She had to get away! But the main entrance was currently smoldering, and every which way she turned was on fire or crumbling into embers.

She coughed as the smoke thickened, fumbling with the gun Chris had given her. Not able to sacrifice the time to stand and take aim, she fired from her butt, sinking two rounds into Alexia's torso. Alexia jerked as the first shot buried deep in her chest and as the second clipped her hip. A spray of blood shot out from the graze, immediately igniting in a miniature explosion of yellow flame.

Despite the hits, Alexia slowly shook her head, tsking with her tongue, then spoke. "_Naughty naughty, little rat._" Gone was the musical, whimsical songstress's voice. What it was now was nothing short of a deathly airless hiss.

Blood spattered Claire's legs and her jeans erupted in flames a moment later. She screamed as spots of her skin fried before she could beat the flames away. Another shower, and speckles covered her body, each burning like a large candle. She scrambled away, crying, trying to ignore both the pain and the weakness as well as the fear, then rolled to smother the red hot spots on her body. Alexia seemed to get satisfaction from her frantic running and settled at a slow casual gait after her, deliberately flinging fire to block her chances to escape. Every strut forward was methodical, chinks in her ridged flesh shifting like a suit of armor.

Claire shot again and again. A few times the pain threw her aim off, and her limbs were shaking in terror, but most of the hollow points found their mark. None of them even slowed her down. As soon as the bullets entered, the wound burned and cauterized itself, in essence adding to the carapace that wrapped around her bodice. The more she shot her, the more armored Alexia became.

The gun clicked dry after its final shot, forcing Claire to dig for her second and last clip. Before she could stick it in the gun, Alexia was upon her. Instead of dousing her, the monster reached down and grabbed her by the collar of her vest, then lifted her clean off the ground without so much as a single line of strain on her hideous face.

Claire cried out, beating and kicking with her arms and legs, but Alexia's grip was steel and just as cold, speckled with unnaturally warm spots. Up close her mutated green eyes flickered, and her smile grew wide. She reached up with a hot, flaming claw that was once a fingernail and traced a line down Claire's cheek. Claire shrieked and flailed in pain as the hot line burned through her flesh like an acidic tear.

Alexia opened her mouth, more of the viscous spittle trailing out and bubbling, then beginning to dribble and flow. Panicked, Claire drew back her fist, still clutching the magazine, and thrust it forward, cramming the metal object into the monster's throat. She didn't feel the spit on her glove as it transferred from Alexia's lips and quickly chewed through the leather and into her palm.

Alexia's eye bulged, and she dropped Claire, letting out a wet, hacking gag. She reached up to remove the intrusion, but just as she closed a hand around it, a series of loud _bangs_ sprang forth. The rounds inside the magazine heated by Alexia's own fiery palm, had detonated within her skull.

There were spurts of flame, and the once-woman jerked and teetered, then fell face forward, smoldering among streaks of flame. The shredded heap of slag that was the gun magazine lay a few feet away from her head.

Her eyes shining with surprise and tears at her own stupid blind luck, Claire froze, staring at the corpse. When the body didn't move, she fell back, not bothering to hide the choking sob that escaped her, nor the ones that followed. She wanted to curl into a tiny ball and just cry, cry about how scared she had been about dying, about how badly she hurt, how badly everything _smelled_, and how she was sick of it all.

The little fit passed, and Claire shakily rolled to her side, then froze. Just in front of her face, knocked loose from the battle, were tiny bits of broken plaster. They were vibrating wildly, dancing like tiny ants on a caffeine rush. Then she felt the rumble in the ground. The plaster shook even more wildly.

The wall behind her exploded into fragments of rock, wood, and plaster, and a thick green tentacle slithered out like a giant snake. It lashed out, the point of it scooping beneath Claire as she tried to scrabble away, lifting and tossing her into the air. She hit the ground with a grunt, but it was on her immediately, coiling around her legs and jerking her upside down into the air.

"_NOOO!!_" she shrieked.

Another rumble, and a second appendage broke from beneath the stairs, shooting straight for her, then wrapped around her arm and pulled. Claire screamed as the cold, leathery flesh constricted then jerked violently, sending a bolt of pain through her shoulder as it threated to rip her limb from the socket.

Then, upside down and everything of the known world shaken, Claire witnessed the impossible vision of Alexia slowly sitting up, then rising to her feet. The bottom side of her jaw was thick and armored from where some of the exploded rounds exited her body through her mouth.

"No..." Claire whimpered, trying to twist free. "Please...no..."

The tentacle holding her arm began to wrap itself around her torso, trapping both of her arms beneath the coils. It constricted tighter and tighter, to the point where Claire was sure her ribs would break. Her lungs burned, screaming for the air which they could barely take as her body was slowly crushed.

Alexia glared at Claire, all trace of amusement gone from her insect face. Her lip curled back in a sneer, broken human teeth now jagged. Even moments after the damage had been done, new teeth, these ones fangs, began to push from her gums. A hiss of breath escaped from her mouth.

"_Die..._"

"Hey, _bitch!_"

Alexia jerked towards the yell just as a thunderous _bang_ bounced off of the foyer's high ceiling. Claire's pounding ears rang from the report of what had to be a very large gun. A fiery exit wound blossomed in a large orange flame as whatever hit her pierced through Alexia's armor. She let out a very human girl-sounding shriek, clutching the gaping wound on her chest. Another shot rang out, piercing her again and she fell over.

The tentacles constricting Claire wavered for a second, but stayed slithered around her. She heard another voice, someone growling incoherently, then more gunfire. The coils around her wavered and flexed, then all at once loosened. She slipped from their grip, falling unceremoniously on her sore left shoulder as the shuddering snakes slithered back into the holes they emerged from.

No sooner did she hit the ground, someone was lifting her up. Through her tear blurred eyes, she recognized Steve's hazy outline.

"Steve...you're okay!" she gasped, then threw her arms around his neck.

"Yeah, I wish I could say the same about you," he replied worriedly as he returned her embrace.

Claire didn't care that Alexia might pop back up again and attack. For that moment, she buried her head into the crook of Steve's neck and just held onto him. All throughout their time together, she had never been so glad to see him. When they first met, he tried to kill her, she held him at gunpoint, and all around he was generally annoying, but there was something about him. Maybe it was because he was so similar to her: both of his parents gone and thrust into the nightmare of Umbrella's experiments. Maybe it was because there was just one more person out there she could trust to do everything to keep her safe.

A gentle hand on her back brought her back to reality. It was Chris, holding a large revolver, the barrel still emitting tiny wisps of smoke as he cocked it at his shoulder. "Hey," he said gently. "We need to get out of here."

Claire broke away from Steve, now aware that in the presence of her brother she had flushed pink. The two of them helped her to her feet, and Chris hooked her arm over his broad shoulders, bearing her light weight on his heavy frame. She winced as some of her injuries began to cry for her attention. Her jeans and vest were dotted with black scars, pink skin peeking out from beneath from multiple burns. The palm of her right glove was no more, the skin beneath it raised and blistered and the line on her cheek stung as the air hit it.

Steve darted ahead, up the stairs which were mostly intact. The main entrance to the foyer was still ablaze. Claire nervously eyed Alexia's body as they passed; it was still motionless, but she couldn't believe that she was dead, even after two shots from a magnum. Maybe Chris thought that too, which explained why he wanted to move so fast. Claire swallowed hard, then forced herself to look away as Chris helped her up the charred staircase.

At the top of the stairs and through a door was a small sitting room which they quickly hurried through.

"Chris, what do we do?" Claire asked, wincing in pain. "How did you even get here?"

"Most of the doors in this place are locked, but Steve might have found an elevator that leads back to the hanger where I came in," said Chris. "The only problem is that it's only activated during an emergency, but we might have found a way to get it running."

"We blow this whole place to hell," Steve said from up ahead, sounding slightly cheerful at the prospect. "I picked up a file that has details on a self destruct failsafe. We set the timer, run like hell, and blow that bitch up with this place."

"Sounds like a plan," Claire said wearily.

_I just hope Wesker dies with her._

_

* * *

_

**Many apologies for the lateness of this chapter! I had an unfortunate incident with my computer where the LCD screen broke. But it's fixed and up and running again, so maybe I can actually get this story finished. I think I might have rushed this chapter a little, but let me know what you think. Most of it was written before my computer broke, and it was never intended to be very long anyway. See you at the next (hopefully soon) update!  
**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Chris could easily bench about 250 pounds, so helping Claire along over the shoulder was nothing. They roughhoused plenty in their earlier years. Most of her bumps and bruises came from friendly little tussles which he usually ended up winning. So, it was a natural feeling for her to get carried around by him, only minus the terror, pain, fatigue, and about a dozen other negative emotions and feelings frying her nerves.

Steve stayed ahead, scouting their route with a handgun he procured from somewhere. She half wished he could be a little closer, but the truth in the matter was they needed a lookout. Chris had stuffed the magnum through his belt so he could keep his arm around Claire's waist to prevent her from falling. If something attacked them, better to have someone with two hands on a gun to start shooting right away.

Her brother had been right. Claire had never seen the Spencer mansion, or any pictures of it for that matter, but Chris moved through the corridors like it was his own house. The room they passed immediately after leaving the scorched foyer was a little sitting area, or maybe a small library, judging from the shelves. They didn't stay long; Steve pushed open the door at the far end and swept it clear. It led to a hallway.

"So, where is the failsafe?" Claire asked as they hustled along. Walking was getting easier, but it felt good just to be so near to Chris, like having a big shield by your side.

"Not far," he grunted. "Just up ahead I think. Steve?"

"Yeah, just through here," Steve replied.

The rich, old fashioned halls continued until they ended in an out of place metal door. The trio pushed through, and Claire gasped at the sudden change in surroundings. They might as well have stepped from a 1920s mansion in San Fransisco to a medieval castle dungeon. The expensive wallpaper and wood paneled walls gave way to bare concrete brick and mortar. Soft lighting was replaced by harsh florescent tubes that flickered off and on from a tired power source.

Spaced along the walls were a few jail cells. Most were empty, but a few housed shadowed figures. Claire didn't need to see their rotting flesh to know they were either virus carriers or some other twisted experiment. A sting of pity crossed her heart for them. She didn't know who they were or what they had done, but they probably hadn't deserved to be turned into something like that. The Ashfords were a sick, twisted family, befitting of Umbrella.

"Should be up ahead," Steve called, pointing up a flight of metal stairs.

As they ascended, the floor beneath the flight of steps dropped off, curving down and outward into a pit. At the top of the steps was a small platform of segmented metal, like a landing on a fire escape. Built onto the level was a small building or shack, only the walls were thick and secure. They found where the failsafe was activated.

"Oh man," Claire moaned suddenly, "What _is_ that?"

The grated metal floor gave a clear view below. They were either in some sort of tower, or if underground, above a very deep hole. The floor below them went down as far as the eye could see before it turned to blackness. But rising out of the darkness was a big mound of dirt with tiny black shapes scurrying across. In horror, she realized they were giant _ants_, each one as big as her hand.

"Really big anthill," Chris muttered tersely. "Try not to look at it."

It wasn't as easy as Chris had said. Claire could easily keep her eyes on the small structure they were heading towards, but the sound! Tiny little chitterings and clickings of legs and mandibles flooded her ears as the millions of drones beneath them went about doing whatever it was they were doing. It made her skin crawl, like the sound itself was burying itself beneath her flesh and moving.

The door to the structure was sealed, and the lock looked intricate, consisting of a dragon-fly shaped indent. Claire's heart sank, but Steve fished through a small folder he was carrying and pulled out an ornate object. It was a gold dragonfly, set with precious jewels and thin, glassy wings. He set it in the indentation, and the lock chirped, flashing a warm, pleasant green, granting them access.

The inside was just as simple as the outside, not consisting much more than a room with a computer console, but a window gave a view to the actual failsafe. What looked like half a dozen large red canisters, each the size of a grain silo, sat in a row extending out below them.

Referencing the file, Steve managed to get the console up and running, and the screen prompted him for a time limit. "What do you think, 10 minutes?"

"10 minutes," Chris agreed. "Any longer might be too long, but we need time to get out."

Steve clacked a few keys. "Shit," he swore suddenly.

"What is it?" Claire asked anxiously, wiggling for Chris to let her stand on her own two feet. He let her, and the pain wasn't as bad as she thought it would be, really just some soreness and exhaustion.

"It's asking for a password. Figures. I didn't think they'd let anyone light the fuse."

"There's nothing in the file?" Chris asked him.

Steve shook his head, paging through the folder. "No. All it says it says is that it's 'the name of my beautiful ancestor'."

"Ugh, crap!" Claire groaned, rubbing her temples. "I know this! It was plastered all over Rockfort in a bunch of files. There was even a painting of her in the palace. Started with a 'v'..." Why couldn't she think of the name? It was on the tip of her tongue, but all she could think about was how horrible everything had been. "V-Victoria, Vanessa, Vivian...Veronica! Try Veronica!"

Steve tapped the keys, then hit enter, inputing the title Veronica into the command box. The computer processed the word, and after a second of pause, began scrolling warning messages. An instant later, claxons began wailing and lights pulsed red. It was an all too-familiar feeling.

_This makes what, the third time? And twice in one day? Definitely a record._

"_This facility will detonate in...ten minutes,_" came the mechanical woman's voice from unseen speakers. It lacked the musical tone of the one on Rockfort, bearing more resemblance to the one in the Umbrella lab beneath Raccoon City. "_All personnel evacuate immediately_."

The canisters before them began to descend, stopping halfway as their charges were primed. The message repeated itself over the speakers.

"Guess that's our cue to go!" Steve said.

The three of them bounded out of the room. The elevator to the hanger had just been down the concrete hall, a one minute run. They had even passed it on the way, but the file noted that it, among other electronic doors in the facility, would only release in the event of an emergency.

Before they could could descend the stairs that led to the hall, the grated platform beneath them erupted. A thick green appendage shot through, sticking straight up like a spear. It lowered itself slowly as the tip of it parted like a gaping mouth with strands of slime. The appendage contracted as something forced itself through the inside, then pressed the mouth to the floor and gave birth to a huddled ball of goo.

It was Alexia, curled up in a fetal position. No sooner did the appendage squeeze her nude body onto the platform, it began to meld with her skin. The wet flesh crackled and slipped as it deconstructed itself and flowed _into_ her skin.

"What are we going to do?" Claire whimpered, huddling behind Chris's broad shoulders. He had pulled the magnum, but hesitated in shooting her. It hadn't worked the first time, and her skin had already formed its armored shell There was no other way off the platform. Behind them was a room full of explosives that would level the facility and a quarter mile of the bare Antarctic wasteland around it. Beneath them was a hundred foot drop on top of a giant anthill with mutant insects. In front of them was a psychopathic monster.

"There!" Chris said suddenly, then pointed to the side of the platform. Behind a glass shield sat a large weapon that looked similar to a rocket launcher, only a lot meaner looking. On either side were two handles, and a warning on the glass indicated that both needed to be turned for it to be released.

Claire's hope soared, then was quickly quelled as Alexia rose to her feet, murder in her green eyes as she surveyed the trio and began a slow steady march. Her pace still possessed that elegant sway of a classy woman, only slower from her segments of armor.

"Steve, Claire, turn the keys! I'll hold her off!" Chris yelled, then leveled his weapon. The magnum fired once, its report deafening even over the wail of the self destruct alarm. His expert shot hit her high in the chest. Alexia stumbled, then snarled and resumed her advance.

"Steve, c'mon!" Claire cried, then dashed to one of the keys, trying to ignore the loud shots. _Don't look back, if he's still shooting, that means he's still alive. _Steve got to the other key just as she did. "On three! One...two..._three_!"

She turned the heavy handle, and at the same time, so did Steve. It worked. The glass shield rose, granting them access to the weapon, but a heavy safety bar anchoring the weapon in its cradle wouldn't budge, even when they pried at it.

"_Safety locks will not be released until charging is complete_," a mechanical tone informed them curtley.

"Chris!" Claire cried. "It has to charge!"

Her brother had taken a few steps back and had released the cylinder to the revolver. Large empty brass shells spiraled to the floor and slid through the grating as he dumped the magazine, fishing in his vest for more rounds. Alexia was crouched on the ground, but already rising as several large wounds slowly cauterized. "Go! I'll keep her busy!"

"Chris, you can't-"

"Steve, get her out of here, _now_! I'll be right behind you!"

Steve grabbed Claire's wrist and pulled, tugging her towards the staircase. She fought back, not wanting to leave her brother at the mercy of a monster. It proved to be a critical mistake, as Steve was unable to pull her fast enough before the wounded Alexia reacted. She thrashed her arm, and a torrent of blood sprayed forth, bursting into flame and creating a barrier between them and escape.

Chris fired before Alexia could swing her arm again, tearing a chunk out of her shoulder. The former woman collapsed to her knees, and in that instant began to change. Her skin boiled and churned, then her gut began to swell, spilling forth like a sac. A catalyst in her body seemed to have activated, and her body began to rise and shift beneath increasing folds of flesh and skin.

"_Steve, go!_" Chris yelled.

Steve pulled her again, dragging Claire through the dying flames and away from the transforming Alexia, who now encompassed half of the platform.

"_Chris!_" Claire screamed as he dragged her down the steps. But there was nothing to she could do. All she saw at the top of the steps was a writhing mass of girl and insect, sprouting jointed claws and tentacles, and then Steve was dragging her down the steps by the waist and arm.

_Remember your promise Chris! You said you would be right behind us! Don't die on me!_

Steve mashed the call button to the emergency elevator, still holding her tightly by the wrist. Claire angrily shoved him off of her, then contemplated charging back up there. But logic and reason managed to subdue raw emotion: Steve would probably stop her, and she was unarmed. All she could do was pray and believe that her brother was as indestructible as she she always saw him to be.

It was a short wait for the elevator. The heavy freight-style transport opened up only after a few seconds with a rackety groan of its double doors. It wasn't much more than a moving platform, designed to hold a lot of weight.

It all happened so fast. Claire _felt _him before she actually saw him, a distinct sense of something evil, like cold water over her. Steve flinched, then flew backwards as something hit him with incredible force. He hit the inside of the elevator and crumpled to the floor like a rag.

"_Steve!_" she screamed in horror.

"You weren't thinking about leaving so soon, were you Claire?" came Wesker's smooth voice from behind.

Claire spun, then screamed and flung herself at him, but he merely sidestepped her lunge and stuck his foot out, tripping her humiliatingly. She fell in a heap, but before she could get back to her feet, his gloved hand was in her hair, _yanking_. Pain sprouted at her auburn roots as he hiked her back up, then shoved her face first against the wall. Wesker twisted her one arm behind her, and with a simple flex he ensured her that he would snap her arm unless she stay very still.

There was nothing she could do to help Steve, other than hope that Wesker hadn't snapped his spine him in that one vicious blow. She bit the inside of her cheek, the other side of which scraping against the wall, and grunted against his hold until she tasted that sickly copper texture. "It was her, wasn't it? She was what Alfred had that you wanted so damn bad."

"Yes," Wesker said, sounding approving. "I have been interested in Alexia's research for a very long time. You've already seen first hand what her variation of the T-virus is capable of. My employers were very interested in her as well." With an ice cold sensation, Claire realized she could feel Wesker's fingers caressing her hair. To not react to him enjoying merely holding her at bay took every fiber of her being.

Instead, she swallowed the snarl of rage and formed it into words. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, but Chris is about to wipe her out. Even if he doesn't, this place is going to blow. There's nothing for you left to steal. You _lose, _Wesker!"

She bared her teeth back at him with a confident smile. Even if he ripped her arm off or strangled her with his bare hands, she would die happy knowing they had beaten him at his own game. She half hoped that if he took the time to kill her, it would mean he would die with the facility. But instead of returning her smirk with anger, he grinned broadly, looking not unlike a cunning shark.

"That's entirely acceptable, Claire. You see, if your brother is capable of defeating the T-Veronica Virus, then it's not worth my time. I also know that brilliance usually associates itself with insanity, but I never expected the virus to take such a dramatic toll on Alexia's mind. She's grown quite unstable with her powers, and is far too dangerous to be studied efficiently. You say you set the facility's failsafe? That saves me the trouble of doing it myself, and still leaves more than enough time to kill Chris."

"You bastard! I won't let you hurt my brother!"

Just then, an explosion echoed down from the platform, only it sounded charged with electricity. Claire inanely thought of just how much it sounded like some kind of laser gun from one of the sci-fi movies she had a fondness for. A blood curdling shriek followed it, twisted and distorted between a woman's scream and an insect's buzzing. There was another explosion, only this one was smaller, and sounded like a wet paper bag bursting.

"It seems that I was correct," Wesker mused in her ear. He pulled her away from the wall, twisting her other arm behind her and locking them together with a single hand. "Chris won't be long now, so be a good little hostage."

He jerked her head back by the hair, baring her throat like a sacrificial lamb. Claire twisted, but even with both of her arms held by a single hand, she couldn't break free. His hand pulled back tighter, causing tears of stinging pain to well up in her eyes as her her hair felt like it was being pulled out by the roots. She wasn't going to be used by this psycho, not as bait to a trap for Chris. She had swore it when she made her pact with Wesker.

But it was too late. Claire couldn't fight back, and Wesker once again proved that there was nothing she could do to alter her situation. Chris bounded around the corner very much alive, but freezing in his place when he caught sight of the two of them. Under any other circumstance, she would be overjoyed to see him, but now she wanted him to get as far away from here as possible and not come back to rescue her.

"C-Chris!" Claire choked out. "R-run-"

Before she could get her warning out, Wesker shoved her roughly through a door to the side of them in the hall. The next thing she felt was tremendous pressure around her waist and the sensation of being jerked off her feet, moving faster than she thought possible. Then, there was light and cold all around and she fell to ice covered concrete.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Foreword: Sorry for abandoning this fic! I think I can finish it up now. I had some trouble writing, but everything should be good.**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Melting snow seeped into the fabric of Claire's jeans as she got to her hands and knees. Tiny pieces of dirt and rock studded her wet fingers and palms. It was cold; not the deathly cold of the Antarctic, but cold nonetheless. Just enough to see her breath mist as she panted.

Wesker pulled her up the rest of the way, yanking her by the hair once again. She grunted as the stinging pain washed down her scalp and thrashed, but his grip was no less stronger than the other times he physically forced her to do something. She may as well have stopped trying, but she didn't. Instead, she gripped his hand, trying to at least make sure he didn't rip her hair off by the ponytail as she bucked and twisted.

They were in what looked to be a small cavern, half man-made and half natural. Rock formations bulged from the side over a paved concrete floor, spider webbed with pipes and cables. The floor ended abruptly at one end, turning to a small lake covered with slabs of ice.

Parked alongside of the dock was an enormous object that she immediately recognized as a submarine. Wesker certainly had an interesting way of escaping. Once again, it just showed how much he was always thinking ahead, always having a backup plan when things went south.

_Maybe I should take a few notes so I would have a backup out of this mess..._

Chris wasn't far behind. The set of double doors that led back to the facility burst open on their hinges, and he stumbled onto the platform. Immediately his face twisted into a mask of pure anger at the man holding her. Claire reached toward him, but was kept back by a firm jerk on her auburn locks from Wesker.

"C-Chris!" she choked out. "Get away!"

"Let her go Wesker!" Chris growled. His teeth were bared as he ground his jaw. It was one of the ways he held his temper. "You don't want her, you want me!"

Claire felt Wesker pause, as if debating his response internally. In the end, he just shrugged. "Fine."

He released her and Claire stumbled forward, already a bit offset from her straining. Chris caught her, then pulled her behind him, shielding her with his own body in case Wesker pulled a gun on them. She knew, however, that he was never that direct, or that simple.

Wesker spread his feet slightly into a casual stance, cracking the knuckles of his right hand. "Today is a good day, Chris. You have no _idea_ how long I've waited to kill you."

"Claire, get out of here," Chris said tersely. "Get back to the elevator, and take Steve-"

"I'm not leaving you, Chris," Claire interrupted defiantly. She blinked back the tears from the lingering pain in her scalp. "Not after everything I've been through to find you. I'm not going to run away while he kills you!"

The words were spur of the moment, fueled by anger and adrenaline. She could use a weapon. A gun or knife like he showed her. In high school, she was suspended for a week after getting into a fistfight with another student, something spurred on by the Redfield temper. The encounter left her with a fractured jaw and two black eyes. She handled herself through monsters in Raccoon City and gun toting psychopaths on Rockfort Island.

But despite everything she _could _do, she couldn't take Wesker on, or even be any help to her brother. She felt more useless than ever.

Chris glanced at her, then back to Wesker. The countdown the initiated was still ticking away, the siren just barely audible through the doorway. Would they have enough time to make it back to their transport before the facility exploded? Maybe...or maybe Wesker would kill them both before that happened.

Wesker reached up and plucked his glasses off his nose. Claire stifled a quiver in her lip as those red and gold cat eyes burned coolly at both of them. "If you don't mind, I'd like to make this quick."

With that, he tossed the glasses to the ground and strode forward. Chris pushed her back, and she was almost all too-happy to let him. Her initial bravado was now gone, replaced with primal fear as Wesker briskly moved, a curl forming on his lips as he clenched his hands into fists. It wasn't the animalistic movement of a B.O.W, or the random shuffle of a carrier. It was deliberate, with the intent to kill...both of them.

"Claire, get back!"

"No! I can-"

-he was already on them. Chris shoved her to the side, cutting her off as he drew back a fist. As she stumbled away, she saw the blur of movement that caught his fist, then another blur that sent him to his knees. Just like that, the one person she always believed to be unstoppable was already down. Wesker struck again, this time slowly enough that she could actually see his fist connect with Chris's jaw as it drove him to the wet ground.

Her heart leaped into her throat just as she finished finding her footing after the protective shove. Something cold touched her wrist. It was a pipe, laying on top of a pallet near a pile of equipment. Without even pausing to think, she grabbed it and lunged forward with a short, tight swing. The heavy pipe cracked high against Wesker's back, and he jerked. She drew it back and swung again.

He turned right into it as it struck him on the side of the head with a _crack_. The blow turned his head, but he didn't fall. She swung a third time, and this time, the bludgeon stopped abruptly in mid-swipe. Wesker had blocked it with his forearm, the pipe actually showing a slight bend from the force of the blow. His face didn't even show as much as a bruise as he glared at her, draining the color from her face as shock set in.

"Know your place," he snarled, then tugged the pipe away and backhanded her.

Like on Rockfort in front of the palace, her vision blurred as her brain rattled inside of her skull. She hit the ground hard, faintly hearing the pipe rattle as Wesker tossed it aside. The entire side of her face felt like one giant welt, throbbing with a low pulse of agony.

Through her hazy vision, she saw Chris jump him from behind, getting one thick arm around his throat as he roared and pulled him away. Wesker snarled, and the two turned into tangle of limbs, each landing blows and kicks.

Claire got to her knees very slowly. The taste of blood spread through her mouth, and spit a wet red spatter on the white and gray floor. Her lower lip was split wide open, dribbling a thick crimson stream down her chin. She wiped at it, then struggled to her feet, her own body screaming at her that she was too injured to move.

But move she did. Wesker had gained the upper hand, and was landing calculated blows to Chris. Each vicious shot was aimed at his face, and despite the power behind each one, he refused to go down. As he was reduced to a staggering mess, Claire jumped at Wesker, clawing at his face with a screeching battle cry as she pummeled at the back of his head.

She heard him swear, and flinch, but he simply reached around, grabbed her by the neck, and plucked her off. A simple squeeze of his hand around her throat changed her offense to defense, and she began to pull at his arm as the air to her lungs stopped.

"I will be more than happy to kill you once I've finished with Chris," he hissed impatiently, "But until then dear heart, _sit_ _still!_"

The drawback of his arm was deliberate, and Claire could barely utter a whimper before the uppercut landed against her bare midriff. It felt like his entire fist went through her. Something in her side cracked painfully as her diaphragm contorted in agony. What little air she had left flew out along with a trail of spit.

Then he shoved her, and she stumbled back and collapsed. Her body curled into the fetal position against her will. She needed to breathe, but couldn't. All there was to her world was the flaming pain in her gut. She gasped and hacked, desperate for air, but instead twitched like a fish out of the water. Nothing stopped the trail of bile from trickling out of her mouth.

Slowly, after it felt like she hadn't breathed in years, her gut allowed a tiny flex, just one tiny gulp of air. It allowed another, and soon, she was able to take a slow shuttering breath that burned all the way in.

Everything was blurred through her tear filled eyes. She saw a black shape and a green shape, the green one crumpling.

This wasn't a fight. It was murder. Cold, calculating murderous revenge. And there wasn't anything either of them could do to stop it. She tried to get back up. Chris needed her help, but every signal to her legs was lost in the fit that was her torso. Her best effort produced a twitch. She couldn't even turn away to watch an inhuman madman kill her brother with his bare hands.

Another blur came into view, this one gray and large, hovering just above them. Her vision cleared briefly, and saw that it was a bundle of metal; construction materials like large I-beams and metal slabs suspended from a chain...whose winch was mere feet away.

_I can try...I have to try...he's going to kill Chris._

Claire rolled over, trying to drag her broken body across the concrete towards the winch. The pain in her lower ribs intensified as her weight fell on it, forcing a cry out of her. She saw the quick release lever on it...if only she could reach it.

_See me Chris...you have to see me and know...get out of the way._

Hand over agonizing hand, it took her almost a full minute to pull herself within reaching distance of the lever, just enough for Wesker to deliver a cruel uppercut that blew Chris off his feet and onto his back. As he rolled over, she locked eyes with him, just reaching the lever. She could barely recognize his face through the blood, but she knew he understood.

Wesker jumped behind Chris, driving his fist towards the back of his skull just as he dove away. The blow hit the floor, spreading spiderweb cracks in the concrete. Claire reached up and slammed her hand down on the winch. It resisted for one horrifying moment, and she thought that she was too weak to activate it. But the release snapped, and a loud rattling of chain filled the air as the spool released its load.

For all of his super-human speed, Wesker looked up very slowly. Claire was certain she saw the first I-beam hit him across the face, and he hit the ground flat on this back as more metal landed on top of him. Several tons of it piled up as the winch continued to rattle against the chain. Then, it stopped with a loud _clank_, and everything was silent. The self-destruct alarm was only faint in her ears.

Chris groaned, shifting to his elbows. Relief flooded through her when she saw him still alive.

"Oh God, Chris..." she whispered through blood. "You're...hurt."

Together, they managed to meet each other half way by crawling, then got to their feet. Claire's legs felt weak, and even standing wanted to make her double over in agony. A sharp pain lanced up her side with every breath, and every breath itself moved jagged glass around her mid section.

"I'm...fine," he slurred. His weight was heavy against her body; she was supporting him as much as he was supporting her. "We need to...get out..."

The alarm still wailed faintly, barely audible in the unfinished part of the facility...

...until the sound of grating metal overpowered it.

One of the beams on the pile had shifted, and to her horror, there was movement. More shifting metal, and then Wesker slowly stood up from the wreckage and lifted his head; face unmarked, unhurt, with cold red eyes glaring at them.

"Nice...try..."

He stepped forward, but despite outer appearances, he staggered, lifting a hand to his head with a grunt. At best, they had managed to stun him, maybe give him a headache.

Claire sagged against Chris. She couldn't do it anymore. He'd won. Injured or not, Chris was barely able to stand on his own. If several tons of falling metal didn't stop Wesker, neither could they.

_Just kill us...and have the mercy to make it quick._

Then, an explosion nearly knocked her to the ground. The wall to the side of them had simply burst, and a flammable gas ignited in a blaze. Heat washed over her body as Chris held himself over her. A crash shook the ground with the sound of falling rock and metal. When she looked up, all she saw was an inferno of burning rubble, with a black figure on the other side of the fire.

Wesker held a hand against his face, red burns and blood seeping from under his black gloves. Half his face was burned, part of his bright blond hair reduced to ash. Still, one red eye glared from between the fingers. That one eye emanated more hate than she had ever felt. It was a predator being denied its prey.

"Consider this a draw," he growled. "It looks like today was your lucky day. But next time, don't count on another."

Claire swallowed hard as she stared back into that eye. She knew he couldn't possibly be staring at just her, but for a moment, that's what he did. He really was the devil, with red eyes and standing in fire and destruction. Then his features softened, and he straightened from his injured crouch, hand still pressed against his marred face.

"Until we meet again Chris...and Claire." He actually _smiled_, then chuckled. The chuckle became a laugh, and the laugh became an insane roar as he tipped his head back and howled.

The laugh followed them as they fled as fast as their beaten bodies would allow. Claire never hoped to hear it again, but knew full well she would hear it in her nightmares for the rest of her life.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

They were out of time. The facility's alarms continued to blare as Claire half dragged Chris down the dark hallway. She needed just as much help hauling her own bruised body. Every other step sent an agonizing jolt up her side through what had to be at least two or three broken ribs, not to mention her aching diaphragm already had her winded and gasping for breath. It was hard to tell if the taste of blood in her mouth was still from her gushing lip, or from deep inside as a violent cough racked her body.

There was no time to rest. Even if they could, the shambling corpses mere feet away from them would devour them in moments. The alarms that flashed lit the hall in sparse, intermittent bursts, every so often highlighting a carrier's grotesque rotting form as it caught their scent. They were just fast enough to stay out of their reach, but she swore she felt a few fingers graze her back once or twice.

Chris suddenly stumbled along side her, nearly pitching both of them to the ground.

"No! Come on, Chris!" she cried, trying to keep his arm over her shoulder. "We have to keep moving!"

"I know," he rasped. "It's just...hard to move."

"We can make it," she coaxed. "Just try to focus."

Preliminary explosions rumbled through the floor, similar to the one that separated them from Wesker. It was a cruel cut to their already short time limit; she didn't know what the charges were for, or why they were firing before detonation, but it was damaging the facility. What if they blew out a hydraulic system, or the power, and the elevator failed?

She tried to stay positive. They weren't dead yet, and the early explosions actually saved them...the dark laugh of Wesker still resounded in her ears, even though it had been replaced by klaxon. Somehow, the second imminent death wasn't as terrifying as the first. Maybe it was because she wasn't staring the devil in the eye.

Just ahead of the, the tunnel made a sharp right, but a hole in the wall looked into a familiar corridor lined with jail cells. It was the hallway with the emergency elevator!

Claire's heart throbbed as she hit the call button. Steve was nowhere in sight, and with carriers roaming around, she feared the worst. The last she saw of him was his limp body after Wesker's strike, but she realized that he had fallen into the elevator as it arrived. If it had closed, it must have protected him.

_Now please be okay after that hit...you can't die on me Steve._

The elevator doors opened, and she breathed half a sigh of relief when she saw his motionless body still intact. Chris lowered her to the floor next to him, and she released the rest of her sigh when she felt a pulse in his neck. He was probably just unconscious.

"Steve!" she tried to calmly say, only to find her voice still shaking. Like before on Rockfort, she patted his cheek softly, then realized she was smearing her own blood on him. "Hey, come on! I'm getting tired of having to wake you up. Get up already!"

The elevator began to descend, more charges firing deep within the facility. Claire glanced at Chris, but he only stoically looked back through the cuts and welts on his face, lips drawn tight. Not wanting to think about what her brother's silence meant, she turned back to Steve, trying to cajole him back to consciousness.

He grunted and twitched, his eyes opening slowly in a daze. Full relief finally flooded through her veins. All three of them were alive and breathing, now they just had to make it count. "Hey, wake up! This place is going to blow!"

He blinked again and felt the back of his head, but his eyes widened as he focused on her face. "Claire! What the hell happened to you!"

"No time right now. Can you walk?"

"Yeah, just...ugh," he grunted. "Give me a hand."

"Steve, help Claire," Chris said as she struggled to help him up despite her ribs. The elevator slowed, and the freight-style doors opened. It was a little chilling to see how large the elevator had been, designed to hold many people, yet they were the only three using it. "This will drop us in the hanger, We need to move fast."

Steve nodded and hooked her arm over his shoulder, taking some of the weight off of her exhausted legs. He wasn't Chris, but he felt strong and safe, and wasn't pressing against her injured ribs. She closed her eyes, just wishing that her pounding heart would calm down, and that the terror would end. They only had literally minutes left, but she forced herself to believe it would be enough. It had to be.

The doors _whooshed_ open, and a blast of frigid air took her breath away. The hanger was an enclosed area, but the roof was open, blowing in snow and streaming in a square of sunlight. A helicopter, their salvation, sat in it. It must have been how Chris got to the base.

As quickly as they could, they climbed down to the chopper, and Chris jumped into the cockpit and began to prep it. In a few seconds, the blades spun, eventually becoming a blur, and they lifted off through the hatch in the ceiling into the blinding white Antarctic wasteland. Claire swallowed hard, and dared to hope...

"Chris?"

His voice was tight. "It's gonna be close, but-"

_BOOM._

The explosion sounded so close she thought that was it: they didn't make it. She cried out, but the world didn't end, just shook violently. An alarm went off on the helicopter's controls, but ceased shortly after. Gradually, everything slowly settled down, and the only sound was the whir of the chopper's blades.

"..we'll make it," Chris finished with a heavy sigh.

Claire slumped in her seat, unable to believe they had been that close They were heading away from the blast, but she craned her neck to look back through the window, seeing nothing but black smoke and a crater of ice. There was nothing left of the facility or Alexia. Just a year's worth of nightmares instead.

When she looked back the world was blurry, and she realized her eyes were filling with tears. Finally, it was over. How long had it been since she could just _relax_ and rest without fear or terror? It seemed so long ago, in another life before she stepped off her bike in Raccoon City. Now, she wanted to relax, but she still felt tense, afraid to believe it was true.

"Claire, are you alright?" Steve asked, sitting across from her.

"Yeah!" she said, wiping at them sheepishly. "I'm not...crying. It's just relief...just...it's been a long day, alright?"

_Worst understatement ever._

Her face throbbed as she wiped it, the backhand from Wesker still pumping blood out of her lip, onto her hands and mixing with the glassy fluid of her tears. She sniffed to clear her nose, but hissed as the intake of air sent a wave of pain up her side.

"Ow," she commented with a wince as more injuries began to make themselves known with the last of the tears. "Goddammit."

Steve once again voiced his concern, and even though she said she was fine, he insisted on rummaging around until he found a meagerly stocked first-aid kit under the seat. It didn't have much beyond some gauze, bandages and antiseptic, but he sat down next to her, carefully dabbing around the bruises. The antiseptic stung when it hit an open cut, but Claire honestly didn't care. It all seemed distant.

"I don't want to sound like a backseat driver, but you _do_ know where you're going, right Chris?" she asked anxiously. She knew a little bit about helicopters, mostly from her brother's stint in the Air Force, but she knew enough that they probably didn't have the range to get back to civilization. Well, maybe, depending where they were on the Antarctic.

"Steve told me about the outpost when I found him," Chris replied. "We'll head for there, and we can call to get a plane or another chopper to get us home. Just relax, Claire."

"Good," Claire said with relief, settling back so Steve could dab the other side of her face. At least they wouldn't be stranded and freeze to death. She wasn't sure if that would be ironic, tragic, or just plain bullshit.

A particularly sharp sting of antiseptic made her hiss, and Steve grimaced apologetically. "It's okay. Thanks, Steve. But don't use all of it, save some for Chris. He needs it a lot more than me."

He managed to get most of the blood cleaned off her face, but there wasn't much either of them could do about her ribs or the pain without some painkillers. She took the kit and slipped into the cockpit next to Chris. He looked absolutely ragged.

"You think you can fly alright like this?" she asked as she gently dabbed the blood away from his face. He didn't grimace as much as she had. "Steve has some flying experience. Maybe he could help?"

"Maybe, but I think I'll be fine. The pain's doing a good job at keeping me up, so I should be fine for a while. It will be a few hours before we get to the outpost. Why don't you go lay down?"

The rest of the gauze and bandages were just enough for Chris. He looked remarkably better for someone beaten within an inch of his life without all the blood.

Claire crawled back out of the cockpit, sitting down in the seat next to Steve. The helicopter's seats weren't all that comfortable, consisting of a thin pad covered by a heavy canvas. Not to mention it was chilly and drafty. She may have been exhausted, but it all kept her awake.

Steve surprised her when he draped something over his shoulders. It was his prison jacket, not exactly a down quilt, but big enough to cover her bare arms and add some insulation to her vest.

"But you'll freeze!" she protested. He only shrugged.

"I'll be fine. You're exhausted, Claire, just try to get some rest."

With that, he drew his arm over her shoulder and held her close. His body heat added to hers, and with her head on his shoulder, he was pretty comfortable. He didn't smell like blood or the the sticky substance that still permeated some of her clothing, just faintly of sweat.

She closed her eyes, and despite her earlier feelings, a wave of deep fatigue combined with the warmth lulled her to sleep.

* * *

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she woke up. It was still daylight, but she knew after enough geography that the sun didn't set this far close to the pole during a certain time of the year. The chopper still hummed in flight, and when she glanced up to Steve, his head was resting against the bulkhead, eyes closed.

Ever so gently, she removed his arm from her shoulder, then drew his coat over him, still feeling guilty he had sacrificed it for her own sake.

"Hey," she greeted Chris quietly as she crawled into the cockpit.

"Hey," he greeted back. "Can't sleep?"

She shook her head. "A nap felt good, but I'm still wired. I bet it'll catch up to me soon, though. I'm probably going to sleep for a week."

"I was going to wake you soon anyway. We're almost there."

Chris was leaning back in his seat, one hand lazily holding the helicopter's stick, the other resting in the space between them. Instinctively, she hooked her arm around it and held herself close to him. Other than waking up after being poisoned, she hadn't gotten a chance to simply enjoy his presence after months of absence. She winced as the fire in her side throbbed, then mildly subsided. Any form of movement caused it to flare up.

"He really did a number on us, huh?" she asked darkly.

"Yeah, he did. But we survived. I think that counts as a victory." He paused for a minute. "Thanks Claire, for backing me up. I know I told you to run, but the fact that we're still alive is probably due to your stubbornness."

She snorted. "Thanks. I'm glad you think of me as stubborn, and not a caring sister willing to help her brother."

He smirked and rumpled her hair with the hand she was holding. Another feeling that felt like forever ago.

"But Chris, promise me you won't run out on me again. After what first happened in Raccoon City, I didn't know where you were, or if you were alright, and to be honest, it scared me."

"You're right," he sighed. "It was stupid of me. I wasn't sure who I could trust with Umbrella breathing down our necks. I figured the less you had to do with it, the safer you would be. I should have figured you'd worry and come looking for me."

"Stubborn, remember?" she grinned.

"Exactly. And you know that I'd never leave you again. But I just can't throw in the towel yet. A lot of good people died because of Umbrella, and I'm going to make sure they go down hard for this."

"You and me both," she agreed, then gave his arm a squeeze. "I'm in this as much as you now."

"That's right. But I'm not worried. I know you can handle yourself, and I promised a long time ago that I wouldn't let anything happen to you while I was around. No matter how many times Umbrella grabs you, I'll be there to get you back."

"You make it sound like it's a habit of mine," she said, then realized he still didn't know the truth. Umbrella didn't abduct her. She walked right to them, because Wesker forced her to.

Claire felt the happy feelings vanish. What would Chris think when he found out she had helped Wesker, albeit it involuntarily. She could just not tell him. Steve knew, but she was sure he would keep her secret. So what then? Just let the guilt eat her alive for the rest of her life, knowing that she helped her brother's biggest enemy? Somehow, she wondered if this was one final torment from Wesker, targeting her relationship with Chris.

_It was all for Sherry. He has to understand that! And what was I supposed to do, just give up and die?_

Despite how well she knew Chris, he suddenly seemed very unfamiliar. This grudge with Wesker was something more personal than he had ever taken something. He was responsible for the deaths of several of his closest comrades, after all. What if that was outside the safety of their relationship?

"You okay?" he asked when she was quiet.

She jerked a little, coming back from her thoughts. "Yeah, just thinking."

He deserved to know. Not right this instant, maybe not that day, but soon.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

A little under a week had passed since the events on Rockfort and Antarctica. The whole ordeal, from being grabbed at the airport until they landed at the Australian research base for the flight home, tallied almost to two weeks, with a majority of Claire's time spent sitting in the Umbrella holding tank in Paris. Funny enough, that had been the least terrifying period.

She was grateful for the privacy of the apartment they were staying at, even if she was sleeping on a fold-out bed; it was just her and Chris, like the days before she moved off to college. Saying goodbye to Steve had been hard, but he said it would be better if he moved to his relatives, to keep them safe from Umbrella in case they decided to follow up on what happened on Rockfort. He promised to keep in touch whenever he could. Claire couldn't keep the blush out of her cheeks when they hugged and parted, but was thankful Chris chose not to remark...at least not verbally, anyways.

It was also nice not having to worry about waking up a roommate with the nightmares. She had more than her fair share after Raccoon City, and Cheryl was an absolute doll during the three months after, staying up to talk her through it if she woke up with a cry or talking in her sleep. At the same time, she wished Cheryl was back for that same reason. She thought about talking to Chris, but she didn't want to wake him up in the middle of the night because she had dreams. That was something a kid would do, and she felt a little ashamed at the thought of it.

The only trouble was, she didn't feel like going to bed after nightmares, especially after this one. It had been filled with Wesker's red eyes, and she'd woken drenched in a cold sweat to the point where she had to change into a dry tank top. It looked like it was going to be the third night in a row with no sleep.

The hands on the clock softly ticked the seconds away, just past three in the morning. Claire dug a spoon into a pint of Ben and Jerry's to help ease her troubles, a single light in the small kitchenette providing illumination to eat by. At least the sweetness of a late night treat was something that stayed constant in life. It _that_ vanished, she wasn't sure how she would cope.

A soft noise hit her ears, and Chris stepped out from the darkness of his room, rubbing his stubble. "Hey." He was wearing an old shirt and a pair of gym shorts, like he normally did for bed.

"Hey," she replied, after a spoonful of chocolate, feeling a little embarrassed. "I didn't wake you did I? I was trying to be quiet."

"Nah, I was already up. Saw the light on, thought maybe I left it on." He slid a stool on the other side of the counter where she sat. "Ribs still keeping you up?"

She shook her head a little morosely. Two cracked ribs hurt, but were reduced to mainly discomfort after an ample amount of painkillers. "Just dreams. You know, the usual..."

"I hear you," Chris said wearily. "Even after it's all over, we keep reminding ourselves about it unconsciously. I still have a few about what happened in Raccoon. Want to talk?"

She did, but what was there to talk about? That Wesker flat out scared the shit out of her? What exactly was he supposed to do about that?

Between the whiny thoughts, however, she settled on a more grim reason. Tonight's dream was particularly bad, but it was the only one so far where she hadn't dreamed of Sherry. Chris didn't know about her fate, and all because she still hadn't told him that she'd gotten picked up by Wesker. How much of her nightmares were actually guilt trips?

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "No...yes," she said flatly, changing her mind. It was now, or never. If she didn't tell Chris, who was going to rescue Sherry?

"What kind of dreams have you been having?" Chris asked.

"Typical nightmare stuff," she said, "But that's not really it."

Despite her resolve to confess, her conscience was holding her back. _Just don't tell him_, it said. _Don't compromise the one relationship you can always trust. He doesn't have to know._

"Claire?"

Claire sighed and dropped her spoon on the counter, then slid her stool back. "Chris, we need to sit down."

Ignoring the fact that they had already been seated, she moved to the more comfortable living room, flicking on one of the floor lamps. The living room wasn't much of a separate room; it shared the kitchenette's walls, with only a small divider wall between the two. The linoleum abruptly became carpet, and aside from a TV, the only furniture was an old couch and a small coffee table.

Chris sat down, looking perplexed and cautious as Claire settled next to him. She could hear her heart hammering in her chest. It had been ages since she'd actually been nervous to talk to Chris about anything. Pushing back her loose hair over her shoulder, she took a deep breath.

"It's about what happened, last week," she began. "About how Umbrella caught me. I had been planning to go to Europe to look for you, along with Leon and a girl named Sherry. Leon mention her when he contacted you, right?"

"A little," Chris answered slowly, "She was a girl you rescued from Raccoon."

Claire nodded. "She was the daughter of some researchers in a lab. Anyway, we set out almost two weeks ago to go looking for you. Leon got called by the government, so he wasn't able to meet us. But..."

_It's not too late to stop..._

"But?" Chris asked.

She swallowed hard. "We never made it out of the state. Because of Wesker."

Once she started talking, she couldn't stop. She told him everything, starting with the arrival at the airport, and how Sherry disappeared. The cops arresting her, finding out they weren't cops, and then meeting Wesker. How he threatened them both, threatened to kill Sherry, and what he wanted her to do. The tears started to flow as she remembered the lonely flight to France, feeling watched and manipulated as she was forced to sneak into Umbrella's facility, then getting caught and shipped to Rockfort. As she let more and more out, the shame and guilt rose. She couldn't even look at him as she spoke, so she had no way to gage his reaction.

Chris sat in silence, listening to her as she cried through the entire experience again, forced to detail the terror she felt when she had to face down Alfred Ashford, all because Wesker forced her to, lest Sherry be killed.

Finished, she bowed her head into her hands, sobbing as she gripped her bangs. The guilt of holding back her confession no longer chewed at her from the inside, but the memory of it all left her feeling used and violated. He knew that she hadn't gotten haplessly scooped up into the conspiracy; she had been an instrumental tool that started it all, and it nearly cost him his life to come and bail her out.

"You're only telling me now because you thought I'd be angry?" Chris asked quietly. "Is that why you waited so long?"

She nodded, unable to look at him. The yells would come soon. She'd seen how angry he could get.

Chris didn't yell or scream. Instead, he sighed, sounding frustrated. "You idiot."

She felt his arm around her shoulder, and he pulled her close. One hand cupped the side of her face, letting it rest onto his shoulder. The action was so sudden that she let out a whimper, fearing it was out of malice. As soon as she felt that familiar comfort, she lost it, and wrapped her arms around him. New shame rose, but now she was ashamed that she let her trust in Chris waver for as long as it did. She wanted to kick herself endlessly for doubting that he'd do anything less than love her.

He didn't have to say anything about forgiving her or how good it felt to see her safe. He let her cry. It felt good to let it all out after keeping it bottled up for so long. The longing she felt after being separated began to fill as he gently stroked her back, gently comforting her as sobs racked her body, even spurring up the pain still present in her ribs. The cries receded gradually, until just silent tears streamed from her eyes. Even those began to slow, and eventually stopped. His stubble lightly grazed the top of her head, where his cheek rested.

"We'll get her back, Claire," he said softly. "I promise. You know I keep my promises."

"I know," she whispered. "Thank you."

She lost Sherry, but found Chris, and he was the one who could save her from Wesker. He may have used Claire against her will, manipulated and twisted her to his own ends, but no matter what happened, she and Chris would bounce back, and together, they would win.

**The End**


End file.
